


For Sacrificial Whims

by OneofWebs



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Sex, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Creepy Sandalphon (Good Omens), Crowley Has Two Penises (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Double Penetration, Eggpreg, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Lactation Kink, M/M, Mating, Mating Bond, Mating Plug, Mating Rituals, Naga, Naga Crowley (Good Omens), Nipple Piercings, Non-Consensual Touching, Oviposition, Pillow Principality Aziraphale (Good Omens), Pregnancy, Pregnancy Kink, Protective Gabriel (Good Omens), Running Away, Service Top Crowley (Good Omens), Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Top Crowley (Good Omens), Vaginal Sex, Virgin Aziraphale (Good Omens), Virgin Sacrifice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2020-12-12 04:36:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 81,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20981774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneofWebs/pseuds/OneofWebs
Summary: Aziraphale was raised to be a Sacrifice to the Snake God. He's never left the temple, he's never had a friend. All he knows is how to be the perfect, faithful servant. When the day of his Sacrifice comes, he finds that the Snake God is absolutely nothing like anyone had told him. Firstly, the Snake God has a name--Crowley--and is much kinder than the stories tell. Aziraphale finds that not only does he enjoy his lot in life, but he enjoys Crowley. Their happiness was never meant to last.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Am i starting another fic? YOu bet your fucking ass I am. I blame my Top!Crowley discord for being evil and enabling. You can find the link at the bottom if you want to join!!
> 
> I want to warn that this chapter is a little sensitive. Sandalphon and Aziraphale have some very uncomfortable moments together that include non-consensual touching and some rather disturbing talk. This won't be a theme throughout the fic, I promise, but I would advise caution through the middle of the chapter. If none of this bothers you, read on! If it does, please proceed with caution.
> 
> Also note the fic has been pre-tagged cuz I know what's gonna happen. So don't get, like, too excited. More fun will come.

On the day of his twenty-first birthday, Aziraphale was stripped bare in the eyes of the temple and bathed in the warmest waters, massaged with the most expensive oils, and dressed in the finest robes. His birthday was nothing short of an event, and the villagers gathered round the temple to offer things like gold and jewelry, like perfume and incense. It was a showering of gifts, but none of them were gifts that Aziraphale would have thought to want. Nor did he know the people who showered him and smiled as they passed, placing their gifts at his jeweled feet. Twenty-one, and he’d never much met the people in the village. He’d lived in the temple for all those years.

Aziraphale wasn’t just a boy and had never been just a boy. He was a Sacrifice. The Sacrifice. He’d been told about it on his sixth birthday, when the priests decided he was old enough to know. He didn’t know his mother, nor his father, but he did know the priests. They’d taken care of him, the four priests, and never left him wanting for a thing. When they told him of his destiny, he had accepted it with some great honor and dignity unbecoming of a six-year old. He was the Sacrifice. He’d been raised to accept that, to find great honor in it, and to feel a sense of giddy pride as he sat there, in the temple, with gifts at his feet.

He knew there were those in the town who would scorn him for this. They had been Sacrifices before, and each had been denied in turn. Their god was the Snake God, the god of luck and misfortune. Over the centuries, the stories told, the Snake God had become a sort of patron to the village. He protected them and sent the rains for the crops, the luck for the hunt, and the good fortune for the town. As long as there were offerings and worship and belief, the Snake God would look after them in every way that he could, and all of it wrapped back around to his calling. Of luck and misfortune. As it turned out, misfortune came in how picky he was. There had been twelve sacrifices in total, over the generations, and each one had been denied.

Crops were beginning to struggle for the harvest, the hunts were becoming less fruitful, and the town had recently suffered a plague that had killed a great many of them. Their time was coming short, and they had had to think fast. It had been Gabriel’s idea to start fresh; Gabriel was an Arch Priest of the temple, one of four. When a babe was left on the steps of the stone without so much as a name and a blanket, it had been Gabriel’s idea to take him in. At the time, Gabriel had been no more than a child of twelve. He was in training to be an Arch Priest, eventually. But he had taken in the child, given him a name, and presented him to the Head Priest at the time. Sandalphon: who had taken Aziraphale up in his arms and listened carefully to Gabriel’s idea.

It had led them to this. Gabriel was no closer to being Head Priest than he had been in twenty-one years, but he did stand beside Aziraphale’s seat and look down over him, to watch the presents as they were set up. When the festival was over, Aziraphale was to see Sandalphon in the back of the temple. It was a private matter, for the Head Priest and Sacrifice alone. To begin the ritual that would take place near sunset. The whole village would gather again, at the stone slab up the hills. They would rally together in cries and merriment to call forth their Snake God. If he did not approve of this sacrifice, the end of their village would come.

“Aziraphale,” Gabriel bent down to whisper, “Sandalphon wants to see you when we’re through, here.”

Aziraphale nodded like it was the easiest thing in the world, but his smile was strained and forced.

“Would you like me to urge them a bit faster?”

“I’m fine,” Aziraphale assured. He had been confiding in Gabriel since he was old enough to talk, really; Gabriel was the youngest of the Arch Priests, which had made him the easiest to approach. As such, Gabriel knew enough to know that Aziraphale was not fine, but he would not show it. Not in any way that he would let show on his face, in his stature. He would retain that strong look about him, smiling as the villagers went by, and tapping his leg.

The festivities were to conclude with a feast, laid out in Aziraphale’s honor. They had roasted a pig for the event, and each family had provided their own meal. All of it was laid out in the center of the temple, and Aziraphale couldn’t take his eyes off of it. He hadn’t eaten since the prior night, having been whipped around hand and foot for all the different things in the morning. The rituals—everything had to be followed by letter of the Law, or the village would suffer. That included _everything_. When Aziraphale tried to stand up, there was a hand on his shoulder that forced him back down.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Michael’s voice had always been harsh.

Michael was second-in-command, technically. Where they would say there was no hierarchy among the Arch Priests, Michael had been there the longest. Nobody really knew her age, and nobody really asked. There had been rumors spread around that Sandalphon had somehow lived to an unnatural age, and where Aziraphale didn’t believe that—he did believe it about Michael. She was stern, always with a hard line in her brow from frowning. When she pressed Aziraphale back into his chair, it was because he was not allowed to leave.

“I thought I might have some lunch,” Aziraphale squeaked.

“The feast is in your honor,” Michael sneered. “It is not _for_ you. Besides,” and finally, her hand lifted away, “don’t you think you’re fattened enough already?”

Aziraphale’s face flushed.

Uriel was the fourth Arch Priest. They were one step above Gabriel, one step below Michael, and rumor had it was that Uriel had a special talent. Aziraphale didn’t believe in their special talent, but it had led to most of this. The idea that the Snake God was looking for a wide, healthy sacrifice. All the Sacrifices before had been younger, skinnier—more beautiful, Aziraphale had thought. Some of them had even come to attend the festival. Aziraphale often envied their beauty, especially when he had first come in contact with a looking glass. He had been pudgy from a young age, and they blamed it on Uriel’s special talent. That they could somehow talk to the gods and learn their wants.

Aziraphale certainly didn’t believe that the Snake God wanted an old, fat sacrifice. But that was exactly what they were going to give their god. Aziraphale: who was five years older than all the Sacrifices had been at their time. Who was at least twice the size. Even the robes and the jewelry wouldn’t be enough to hide the rolls of Aziraphale’s stomach, or the meat of his chest. There was no rectifying his size, not with how short the time had come. Michael did seem bent on attempting to, though. In the hours they had left before the Ritual Sacrifice. Aziraphale was to fast the day away, and it left him with an uncomfortable shift in his stomach.

Michael eventually left him, but she didn’t go far. She was always watching; she’d been watching him since birth, really. Always with a skeptical glint in her eyes. When she looked at Aziraphale, she didn’t see the Sacrifice that would save their village. She saw a plump and overgrown child, past his prime. Yet somehow, the whole town was placing their hopes on him. It was the only thing that would bring them all together, and they were certainly together. They feasted, they shouted, and they drank. They made merry, they danced, and they sang. Aziraphale shifted as far back in his seat as he could and watched from afar, stomach growling.

And then, Gabriel was setting a small roll on the arm of the chair. It was a quick exchange, Aziraphale noticing the roll and swiping it before Michael could see. Aziraphale tucked it into the folds of his robes and looked up at Gabriel, smiling.

“Thought you might get hungry, sunshine,” Gabriel grinned.

“I can’t eat here. Michael will see me.”

“For later. The festival is almost at an end. You can eat it on your way to see Sandalphon.”

Aziraphale’s stomach dropped, but he nodded. He didn’t want to see Sandalphon, but Sandalphon was the High Priest. It was his responsibility to begin the ritual preparations, and no one else would be allowed to look at Aziraphale after that. Not until sunset when they paraded him towards the hills. There were blessings in this, though, and Aziraphale did try to remind himself of them. Maybe he had to watch the villagers feast and drink without him, but the rest of the day he would be on his own. It would be nothing but Rituals, and at the end, that was all this was. He had never had to fear for his life, on this path. When they called for the Snake God, the Snake God would come. He did not require death to take his Sacrifices.

None of it would do anything to change the pounding in Aziraphale’s chest or his head. It drowned out the festivities, even as the festivities drowned out themselves by the time the afternoon rolled around. Aziraphale had been raised to do this; he’d never known anything but the day he would be offered to the Snake God. Still, with his duty on the horizon, he was afraid of what would happen. The village had placed their hopes in him, and when he had looked at himself last, he didn’t believe he was worthy of a one of those hopes. His beliefs didn’t matter. This was his destiny, and he would fulfill it or damn the village to death. He had heard stories of villages who lost their god.

A village without a god would wither away to nothingness. Illness and plague would spread through the streets. Crops would die. Livestock would topple in the fields. What would be left was nothing more than a blight in whatever field the village had lay. If Aziraphale failed, his village would turn to ash. He didn’t know the villagers, so it was difficult to care for their safety, but he did know the priests. They would be no different. They would perish of the plague and die in the streets like animals, without the Snake God to protect them. Just the thought, the vision in his head of Gabriel dying in something so heinous, because Aziraphale couldn’t fulfill his duty—it was motivation enough to do as he was commanded.

When the festival was over, the gifts cleaned, Aziraphale headed towards the back of the temple. There was a room that he and Sandalphon always met in, and it would be the same now. To begin the Ritual, the purification. Aziraphale didn’t know any of the details, but he assumed he would be told. Eventually. Even if it was seconds before it happened, Aziraphale still wanted to be aware of what he would face. It would surely be nothing so humiliating as what he’d experienced already—being bathed in the middle of the temple, for all to see. He didn’t know. He didn’t know anything.

Only that, when he had gone halfway down the hall, Sandalphon met him there. Outside of the room, which was unusual. Unusual and particularly irksome, because Sandalphon grabbed his wrist before he could take even a bite out of the roll Gabriel had stolen for him. Sandalphon plucked it out of Aziraphale’s hand and tucked it into his own pocket, a sinister little grin popping up over his thin, shriveled lips. There was only silence as Sandalphon led Aziraphale back through the hallway, down to the room. Aziraphale hated this room, but he kept his lips pressed firmly together as he was situated in the middle of it. Sandalphon closed the door, and it locked.

Doors in the temple weren’t supposed to lock, but this one did. Sandalphon had always made sure it locked and locked securely. Then, he stepped back into the room and took a moment to just circle Aziraphale. On the wall was a large, hanging looking glass. Aziraphale was always faced towards it when Sandalphon did this, looked at him. Sandalphon’s eyes were small and dark, creepy in the way the ran from the exposed skin of Aziraphale’s ankles to his neck. The whole of him. Aziraphale’s skin was white, pure. He was so untouched that even the sun had never kissed him, and his hair looked whiter than blond.

“Strip,” Sandalphon said.

Aziraphale shuddered, but he kept his mouth shut. He didn’t argue, and he didn’t insist to keep his clothes on. Even if he did argue, it would be fruitless. Aziraphale had learned that the first time Sandalphon had demanded he strip. Sandalphon hadn’t had an issue with grabbing the shoulders of Aziraphale’s robes and _ripping_ them away from his body. He hadn’t even returned the ripped shreds when it was time for Aziraphale to leave; Aziraphale had had to flee, _naked_, and had only been saved when Gabriel found him and offered him something. That was not an experience Aziraphale wanted to repeat, so he started with his jewelry.

“You’re to be given to the Snake God tonight,” Sandalphon said. He continued to circle around, watching as Aziraphale laid out his jewelry on a small table.

“It’s an honor,” Aziraphale replied his line of the script.

“You’re quite stunning, Aziraphale. We can’t let that beauty disappear; you know. That’s why we do this.” This. The _checks_. That’s what Sandalphon called them. Aziraphale had heard the explanation only once, and he was supposed to remember it. He did, well. Painfully well.

There were things that were expected of him, as the Sacrifice. He was to be perfect, untouched, pure. Maybe it wasn’t strictly necessary that Sandalphon _ensure_ these things, but he certainly enjoyed it. There wasn’t an inch of Aziraphale’s body that was off limits to him, and that would end today. It was an unfortunate thing for Sandalphon, that he would lose this access to Aziraphale. Aziraphale who was still so young, pure, with white and smooth skin. This would be his last chance to put his hands on Aziraphale, and he would ensure he used it to the fullest.

When Aziraphale started on his robes, Sandalphon stopped in front of the mirror to watch him. Aziraphale was always slow at this, nervous, with shaking hands. It made him cute. It made his virginity obvious. The mere action of undressing sent his skin into a little pink flush, and Sandalphon couldn’t stop himself from licking his lips. Every inch of fabric that fell away was an inch of skin that he could see. His eyes roamed over Aziraphale’s chest: the fat, roundness of his breasts. He had wide areolas and plump, perky nipples. His stomach was soft; his body looked near hairless with the light color of it. And then, the robes were dropping to the floor.

Sandalphon’s eyes grazed over Aziraphale. His wide hips, the fat of his thighs. Nestled between them, under the rolls of his belly, was Aziraphale’s less than impressive cock. It was a stout little thing, fat like the rest of him. It was the perfect size, really. The perfect shape. Sandalphon always started his inspection there, when he approached Aziraphale. He reached forward and cupped Aziraphale’s prick in his palm, feeling the weight of it, the small of his bollocks. Aziraphale stiffened, but he didn’t flinch away from the touch. In fact, he seemed to respond to it in such a sensitive, desperate way that it only proved how untouched he was.

“Perfect,” Sandalphon told him, then pulled his hand away. “You’re always so perfect, so pure.” He didn’t miss the way Aziraphale preened at the comments. He was always praised. Trained to enjoy the kind words Sandalphon offered him. “Shall we continue?”

Aziraphale gave a hesitant nod.

Sandalphon didn’t leave an inch of his skin untouched. He looked over his arms, his thighs, his feet. When he circled around, Sandalphon’s hands ran down his back, his sides, and stopped firmly over his hips. He held fast there with his fingers digging into the extra flesh. There, Sandalphon paused. He looked at Aziraphale from the mirror, their glances meeting, and Sandalphon seemed to smile something strange. Like his motives had suddenly shifted, and his grip grew a little harder.

“The Snake God will inspect you too. If he finds so much as a bruise on your body,” Sandalphon came closer, closer, until Aziraphale could feel the press of his body, “he won’t take you.”

“I—I’ve been very careful,” Aziraphale said. “I’ve done everything you’ve told me.”

“You have. You’ve been very good for me all these years. Have you ever thought about _staying_ with me?”

“S-staying?” Aziraphale’s eyes went wide. That was never option. That had never been an option. He’d been raised for this, since the moment he could understand what it meant. He was to be given to the Snake God as a Sacrifice, and that was the end.

“I could hurt you,” Sandalphon said, and suddenly Aziraphale did flinch. The grip on his hips kept him still. “If I bruise you now, the Snake God won’t accept you. You’ll be free to stay here, with me.”

“With you,” Aziraphale squeaked out. He could see the look in Sandalphon’s eyes. _Lust_.

“If it was me you were with,” Sandalphon let a hand wander up to take Aziraphale’s chin in his hand, “you would be taken care of.” He titled Aziraphale’s head towards him, like he intended to _steal_ something. “It really is an unfortunate you’ve been promised to the Snake God for so long. I could’ve taught you so many things. _Had_ you so many times.”

Aziraphale shivered at the thought, and not for want, but for fear. He didn’t want to know the details of that threat, but suddenly Sandalphon’s hand was sliding down his neck.

“If it were me,” Sandalphon said, “your first time would be something to remember.”

“N-No,” Aziraphale suddenly gasped. “I’m supposed to go to the Snake God—for the village. We need his blessing—!”

Sandalphon’s hand dipped back down to his hip as if nothing had happened. He continued his inspection, down the back of Aziraphale’s legs, around the curve of his arse. Sandalphon was clearly upset with the answer he’d received, and he wore it on the scowl of his face, the grip of his hands. Sandalphon had taken a tight hold of Aziraphale’s cheeks and spread them; it was all Aziraphale could do not to shout at the sudden invasion. He couldn’t say a word. He’d already made Sandalphon angry. Anything more might spell something worse, like Sandalphon wouldn’t stop just because Aziraphale had asked him too.

“Seems it doesn’t matter what you want, anyway,” Sandalphon huffed, standing up. “You’re bruised, Aziraphale.”

“What—?!” Aziraphale whirled around. “No—No! It’s not possible. I’ve been so careful!”

Sandalphon frowned and grabbed Aziraphale’s wrists. “You’re bruised, Aziraphale.”

“I can’t be,” Aziraphale sighed, deflated.

“I shall get a second pair of eyes for you, if you’d prefer.”

Aziraphale didn’t have time to say that mortified him. The idea of _another_ person seeing him like this, standing naked in the middle of a room. But Sandalphon had stormed from the room before Aziraphale could utter more than a whimper. He was left standing there, arms folded across his chest like that would somehow hide him, cover him from whatever eyes would be brought in to look. There weren’t many choices for who Sandalphon would bring, and every one of Aziraphale’s worst fears came to fruition when Sandalphon returned with _Gabriel._

Anyone but Gabriel.

Gabriel had _been_ there for him, all of these years. He stole food when Aziraphale was hungry. He’d been the one to slip him his first cup of wine, and then the alcohol had gone straight to Aziraphale’s head, Gabriel had offered his lap and watched Aziraphale fall asleep. And now, he was standing there in his Arch Priest robes with wide eyes, looking horrified at the sight in front of him. Aziraphale, naked, attempting with something sadder than futility to cover himself up. To Sandalphon, this was purely business. Or, that’s how it seemed. This wasn’t Aziraphale standing in front of them, just a Sacrifice that needed to be inspected before the ritual could begin.

“I needed a second pair of eyes,” Sandalphon explained. “In my age, things start to wither.”

“Right,” Gabriel replied, “of course.” There was a strain in his neck that spoke of effort, the effort it took for him to look everywhere but at Aziraphale. To continue to afford him some dignity.

Aziraphale knew why he’d brought Gabriel, why Sandalphon had done this. It wasn’t some sudden thing; this had been planned. The things he’d said to Aziraphale. Aziraphale could still hear them ringing in his ear. Sandalphon had been planning this for years, maybe, a way to keep Aziraphale from fulfilling his duty. Sandalphon may have been old, but he wasn’t dense. He wasn’t stupid. If Aziraphale was shunned by the Snake God, Aziraphale would have nowhere else to go but the temple. In the temple, Sandalphon would have free reign of him. His honor would disappear, and he would spend the rest of his life in Sandalphon’s bed chambers.

Gabriel was the youngest Arch Priest, but he was the best suited to take over the temple when Sandalphon finally, _finally_ died. If he ever would. This was Gabriel’s test. If he was willing to do whatever it took to be named as heir to the Head Priest position. It was just _business_, really. It would be the one guarantee that Sandalphon would name him successor. He’d been dreaming of it. Aziraphale remembered the nights spent out back in the gardens talking about it. Gabriel had wanted this his whole life; he’d given up a life for it.

Her name had been Lilith, Aziraphale remembered. He’d seen her once or twice; she had fiery red hair and dark skin, violently beautiful eyes, and a sharp smile. Aziraphale had never had to question why Gabriel had been in love with her. He had questioned why Gabriel left her, but the priesthood had been his dream. They weren’t allowed attachments like that, as it was said to diminish the relationship they would form with the gods. Gabriel had needed to say goodbye, and she had disappeared after that. The rumors said she left town for something better, for _someone_ better. When she left, she took every reason for Gabriel to do a good and proper thing with her. He had no reason not to grab his opportunity now.

Still, he would not look at Aziraphale.

“It’s on the back of him,” Sandalphon said, all but dragging Gabriel across the room. “I need your expertise, Gabriel.”

“I’m looking for a bruise,” Gabriel said, his eyes squinting as he talked. He sounded out a question, but it was a statement all the same. He knew what he had to do, but when he had no choice but to look at Aziraphale, he wished he wouldn’t have to.

The only saving grace remained that Aziraphale’s back was to the mirror, now. He wouldn’t have to watch, and Gabriel wouldn’t have to see his reaction to this situation. Gabriel stood there, eyes dragging down Aziraphale’s spine, over the swell of his arse. He was looking for a bruise. Somewhere over this expansive of pure skin, Sandalphon had sworn he’d seen a bruise. Gabriel, on the other hand, didn’t see one. Not even when Sandalphon ushered him closer, _implored_ Gabriel to put his hands on Aziraphale. The jump under Aziraphale’s skin was enough to make Gabriel sick, but he had to do as he was told. They both did.

Gabriel had a choice. He could agree with Sandalphon. There was a bruise. Aziraphale was unfit for Sacrifice, and he would be denied immediately. It was better to call the whole thing off and hope they could choose someone from the village before nightfall. That would secure his chances of being named successor for Head Priest, but in the same vein, it would do so much worse. Fate would be sealed with that, Aziraphale’s fate. Maybe Gabriel would find himself as Head Priest one day, but Aziraphale would suffer every moment until then. Gabriel was not blind to Sandalphon’s wants, even if he had done nothing for them. He’d been there to comfort Aziraphale, but he’d never taken an active stance to stop it. The ritual would stop it—Aziraphale would be gone. It was better that Aziraphale was gone.

“There’s no bruise,” Gabriel said, standing back up. He removed his hands as if Aziraphale’s skin was fire.

“Pardon?” Sandalphon’s last warning.

“There’s no bruise, Head Priest,” Gabriel turned to look at him. “It must have been the lighting. I do apologize.”

“The lighting, of course.” Sandalphon was frowning. “I suppose we can continue, then.”

“Will you require anymore assistance?”

“None,” Sandalphon scoffed. “Out with you.”

Aziraphale sent one long, pleading look after Gabriel, but there was no choice here. Gabriel had to leave. The endgame, then, would still be Aziraphale’s Sacrifice, so the ritual had to begin. Gabriel had to leave. Even if he wanted to stay and attempt to protect Aziraphale, he couldn’t. No one was to be around for the beginnings of the ritual save the Sacrifice and the Head Priest. The look in Gabriel’s eyes said enough, at least, and Aziraphale knew he _wanted_ to stay, more than anything. But he left.

Gabriel let, and Aziraphale folded his arms back up over his chest until a very nasty grunt from Sandalphon had him dropping his arms. Sandalphon turned him around, back towards the mirror, and circled around behind him. When their eyes met in the mirror, Aziraphale felt every last shred of esteem shrivel away. It was a look of judgment, of anger. He’d been looking forward to confirmation that Aziraphale was _unworthy_. It hadn’t come. Now, he had no choice but to continue. And he intended on continuing.

When Aziraphale’s back hit Sandalphon’s chest, he gasped. There was no point in hiding his dislike of this anymore; Sandalphon already knew. It didn’t matter. There were hours left before sunset, and Sandalphon would use those to the fullest. His hands snaked around Aziraphale and grabbed his chest. He squeezed Aziraphale’s chest, lifted each tit in turn, and then brushed his forefinger over Aziraphale’s left nipple. Aziraphale whimpered, but he didn’t fight it. He was afraid to do anything.

“Has anyone told you what the Snake God will do to you?” Sandalphon asked. He stepped away, only for a moment, and returned with a rather frightful looking tool.

“N-No,” Aziraphale replied. He couldn’t take his eyes off the tool, and nearly flinched away when Sandalphon stepped in front of him. Sandalphon glared, and Aziraphale stilled himself. “Wh-what are you doing?”

“You require a bit of adornment,” Sandalphon said. “Something that makes _this_,” he gestured over Aziraphale’s body, “more desirable.”

Aziraphale wanted to shout how moments ago, Sandalphon had thought him nothing less than desirable. He wanted to keep Aziraphale from his sacred duty simple because he was so desirable. Aziraphale’s would-be fate was to be kept in Sandalphon’s bed chambers, his plaything. But it hurt too much to hear, and then Sandalphon was grabbing his tit again. The tool, then, pressed against him. Hands clamped over his mouth was the only thing that muffled the shriek Aziraphale let out as the tool _pierced_ through his nipple.

“The Snake God,” Sandalphon started, and he paid no mind to Aziraphale’s scream or his tears, “is not known for his kindness. Surely, you recall that from your teachings?”

Aziraphale nodded hurriedly, his hands still over his mouth.

“I’m sure for all these generations, he has grown restless. You see,” and Sandalphon threaded a golden ring through the new wound; Aziraphale was crying freely, “the Sacrifice has a very specific purpose. Has anyone ever informed you?”

Aziraphale shook his head.

“You are given to the god to be _fucked_,” Sandalphon spat. His spit flew forward and spattered over Aziraphale’s chest. “The Snake God hasn’t had a plaything in centuries, so we believe.” Sandalphon rose to meet Aziraphale’s gaze then. “He will not be gentle with you.”

Sandalphon dipped down to pierce Aziraphale’s other nipple, then. Aziraphale shrieked through his hands and sobbed. His entire body was wracked with a tremble from the pain; his knees knocked, and his fingers were beginning to turn white. There was a drip of blood from the second piercing that made a slow, torturous trail down Aziraphale’s body.

“If it were me,” Sandalphon continued, “I would ensure you were _cherished_.”

There was a split second of nothing, and then Aziraphale was sobbing harder when he felt Sandalphon’s tongue on him. He followed the trail of blood with his tongue, up Aziraphale’s body and over his nipple. Sandalphon suckled there for just long enough that Aziraphale’s body would betray him, but then pulled back. The second ring was slid through the wound and clasped.

“You’ve given that up,” Sandalphon said. “You will belong to the Snake God, tonight. Assuming he wants you. He may take one look at you and decide you’re hideous. You should hope that he decides you’re hideous.”

“B-but I’m—”

“You’re nothing,” Sandalphon snorted. “After tonight, you’ll be nothing more than the Snake God’s toy. You’ll be expected to spread your legs for him anytime he wants.” Sandalphon circled again, until he could press his body into Aziraphale’s back. Aziraphale could feel the hard outline against his rear, but he didn’t dare move away. It wouldn’t be pleasant, not when Sandalphon had taken to fondling his chest again. It hurt; it hurt so bad, but Aziraphale tried to sniff away his tears.

“You’d better, too. If you behave, the Snake God might even be _kind_ to you. Or maybe, he’ll rip your skin from your bones,” Sandalphon laughed. “Maybe he’ll stab your eyes out and fuck the holes they leave—I hear rumor the Snake God is true to his name in every way.”

Aziraphale bit down into his lip to keep from crying out. He closed his eyes tightly, curled his fists up, and tried to think of anything other than what Sandalphon was saying. He thought back to the garden, some months ago, when Gabriel had taken him out there so he could learn about the flowers. It wasn’t _traditional_ teachings, but Gabriel had never been in charge of his lessons. It was a momentary thing, in which Michael had something more important to attend to. Gabriel had taken one look at the book and grimaced, then taken Aziraphale outside to see the plants, instead. The garden was so beautiful, and Aziraphale would have preferred to be there.

“I suspect he’ll keep you chained, like the dog you are. He’ll mount you at his own pleasure, and you’ll be expected to take it. You’ll thank him for it, won’t you?”

When Aziraphale didn’t response, Sandalphon squeezed his left nipple until the tears were flowing fresh, and Aziraphale shouted, “Yes—! Yes, I’ll thank him!”

“You should practice your thanks, you know. With me. I’ve done such wonderful things for you, Aziraphale,” Sandalphon muttered, leaning over into Aziraphale’s hair. He wouldn’t dare kiss a Sacrifice, but he did inhale him deeply. He squeezed Aziraphale’s nipple again and shuddered at the resounding shout.

“Thank you—” Aziraphale whimpered. “Thank you—”

“Do you think a god will care if he hurts you? If he rips you open and leaves you bleeding? He might even enjoy that. Would you thank him, if he tore you like that?”

Aziraphale nodded hastily, another litany of whimpered thanks coming from his lips. Sandalphon smiled something sinister

“I can see you now, chained in the Snake God’s domain, spread out for him. Do you think if he fucked you hard enough, even _you_ could get pregnant?”

Aziraphale chewed on his bottom lip and didn’t respond to that. He just shut his eyes as tight as he could and tried to ignore the feeling of Sandalphon’s hands on him. A hand had dropped down to cup his cock, again, as if to emphasis what sort of horrid comment he’d just make. What it would take for Aziraphale, a man in every way, to carry a child like that. Sandalphon whispered it would be brutal, it would be horrible. The Snake God would rip him apart until there was a soft place to lay an egg. And Aziraphale was helpless but to listen to it.

After a second bath, Aziraphale had been adorned in more jewels. Then, his outfit. It was specifically designed for him, to leave parts of him to the imagination so well that the Snake God would be a fool not to touch him, not to tear the clothes from his body once they were apart and take him. He was crowned in a headdress, a veil that covered his face from the eyes down in a sheer, red fabric. The rest of the outfit was red too, loose and flowing. There was a shirt, though it was draped over one shoulder, and left his new ring exposed to the wind. It hurt, but it was a wound the Snake God would not mind.

After Sandalphon had left him to get ready, the ritual and oils prepared, Aziraphale had done nothing but collapse and cry. It had taken nearly half an hour for Gabriel to calm him back down, to _ensure_ him the Snake God would not deny him for this new _adornment_, as Sandalphon had called it. Once he’d calmed down, things had gone on. They had gone so far that Aziraphale was standing on the stone slab, now, dressed in his fiery red outfit with his jewels and his chains. Michael, Uriel, and Gabriel stood behind him. Sandalphon stood out in front of him, midst the circle that would call their Snake God. The village had gathered around the stone, and the chanting began.

The sky suddenly took a dark turn, a swirling mass of clouds that darkened as they coiled together tighter. In the mass of clouds, through the wind and the sudden drizzling of rain, red poked through and bled into the darkness. As the chanting grew louder, words Aziraphale didn’t recognize, the clouds coiled tighter. Tighter, tighter, until they were spinning down in a mass of _something_, piling on the stone in front of the circle. The red bled out into a solid color, and suddenly there were stars in the clouds that flattened out into the shimmer of scales. Coiled all together until the storm came to a flashing halt.

The Snake God had answered their call. He stood there in all of his hulking glory, _buildings_ tall, with eyes that glowered gold and a long-forked tongue. His hair was a crimson red and flowed down over his chest, and then his skin. Kissed by the sun and spattered with scales along his arms, his waist, until his hips disappeared into a massive snake tail: scales black as night and an underbelly painted with blood. The Snake God had claws for hands, where scales painted around his wrist, and from them, his hands were large and hard. Bony with jutted out knuckles and long, sharp claws.

Aziraphale couldn’t _help_ himself. He’d never seen the Snake God before. Not even in idols or artist renditions. This was entirely new, brand new, and the Snake God was a vision. He was beautiful with hard muscles that spanned the length of his body, and his tail was long and vibrant. But there was more to this than just looking over the god in awe. Aziraphale had an eye out for something in his terror. The Snake God was larger than he ever imagined, and there had been the passing _thought_ of what Sandalphon had told him. That as the Sacrifice, it was his job to _please_ the Snake God. To spread his legs and be taken as many times as the Snake God pleased. Without clothes, it was an obvious thing to do.

Aziraphale could find nothing that _resembled_ a cock, but that didn’t make him feel any better. The Snake God’s claws were sharp, as were his teeth. Everything about him was a hard, jutting angle, and Aziraphale couldn’t deny how terrified he was of his duty, now. The Snake God’s size meant he could do anything to Aziraphale, anything he wanted. He could hurt Aziraphale. Tear him limb from limb. Swallow him whole, if he so desired. Aziraphale would be defenseless in the claws of the Snake God—but maybe that was a better thing. Maybe if he only behaved and spread his legs, the Snake God would be kind to him.

“Welcome, oh great god,” Sandalphon cried out. “We have brought you your Sacrifice this day and bid that you take it.”

_It._ Aziraphale tried not to grimace.

The Snake God raised an eyebrow and slunk down. His tail wound out, a mountain all on its own, until his claws hit the stone and he could peer at Aziraphale. There was a long moment of silence; the Snake God had not so much breathed, blinked, let alone _spoke_. Aziraphale could imagine his voice, a booming and terrifyingly commanding sound. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear it.

The silence continued, and it turned the whole village anxious. The Snake God didn’t seem impressed, nor unhappy. He was just inspecting Aziraphale, looking at him. Inching closer when he could. But his silence even made Sandalphon fidgety, who had stepped away, so the Snake God had a clear path to his Sacrifice. Sandalphon’s fidgeting had him speaking, though. In his nervousness.

“We do hope you find him pleasing,” Sandalphon said. “We have sought your blessing for generations! If he is not to your liking, we would offer the whole village—”

Suddenly, the Snake God’s focus changed. In a flash, a _second_, he had shot across the stone stage until he was inches from Sandalphon, his claw hovering lightly over him. Not close enough to touch, but enough that the color drained out of Sandalphon’s face. The Snake God only looked at him, that same inquisitive and judgmental look he’d given Aziraphale. Only, with Aziraphale, the Snake God’s pupils had been blown wide. Now, they shriveled to a thin, black line through the gold of his eyes, and his lips turned a frown. He bore into Sandalphon’s _soul,_ with his gaze.

Aziraphale was there, younger than the Snake God had seen him. And he was a horrid looking thing with his hands chained together. There whip streaks on his back, red and angry, and a spattering of come over his thighs. He was crying, Aziraphale, and his face was red. He was blindfolded, gagged, and still cried out with every move he made. It was only then that the Snake God _noticed_ the wounds, the cuts over his body. Festering things that Sandalphon had left without proper care, because he was _old_ and wouldn’t last much longer. Aziraphale would die with him if left untreated, but that’s what Sandalphon wanted. Each day, he would mount Aziraphale with his short, stubby cock, and fuck him with abandon.

It left Aziraphale bleeding, gasping to find air behind the gag in his mouth, but Sandalphon would never let him. He barely fed him, barely gave him water. Aziraphale was left tied to the bed for hours, for days, with his knees forcibly spread and Sandalphon’s spend dripping down his skin. It had gone a sickly pink color with _blood_. Aziraphale was brought no pleasure. He did not have clothes. He was left shivering at night, when often, Sandalphon would fall asleep with his cock still buried inside of Aziraphale. It was a wretched sight—a horrid thing.

The Snake God whipped away from Sandalphon and nearly knocked him back, but the god was careful. He came to a quiet stop in front of Aziraphale again and looked directly at him. To wipe the horrid vision from his mind, to see the true Aziraphale. He knew the name without the knowledge, because he wanted to know Aziraphale’s name.

“Tell me,” the Snake God spoke, “who among these humans you trust. I will speak with that one no longer.” The Snake God’s claw shot out to point at Sandalphon.

“G-Gabriel,” Aziraphale choked out. Then again, so the god could hear him. “Gabriel.”

“Gabriel,” the Snake God bellowed. “Who among you is Gabriel?!”

Gabriel did take a tentative step forward, until he had come to stand beside Aziraphale. He would have taken Aziraphale’s hand, to calm him, if it would not have been an extreme act of disrespect. This was the Snake God’s sacrifice; he was to be untouched for the ritual, in all ways. Then, Gabriel introduced himself. Just as quietly as Aziraphale had called for him, and the whole village went silent. The rain had stopped, the winds had stilled. The world froze as they spoke.

“Then he is to be your sacrifice?” The Snake God asked.

“Yes,” Gabriel replied. “We seek only your blessings on the village.”

The Snake God snorted out, “of course. Do you think he is worthy?”

“I do,” Gabriel said. “He has been waiting for this moment his whole life, and he will be a faithful servant.”

The Snake God looked impressed. Aziraphale even dared to smile. He knew Gabriel cared for him, but he hadn’t known Gabriel thought so highly of him. They were friends, and Gabriel was doing everything within his power to ensure Aziraphale would not be refused. Aziraphale needed to be freed.

“Your praise is admirable,” The Snake God said. “And it means nothing. This one,” he said, looking directly at Aziraphale, “I do accept.”

The village did not cheer. Nobody moved a muscle as the Snake God wrapped his claw around Aziraphale and lifted him up off the ground. Aziraphale was frozen, for fear he might hurt himself if he moved too much. The Snake God was gentle, though, and did offer a kind smile before the storm began to pick up. Everything that had been done, all at once, was undone. The clouds reverted, sucked back out into the sky until they were a white and soft thing again. With them, the Snake God and Aziraphale had disappeared


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ch2 already!!! I was floored by the excitement for this fic, and it certainly fueled the speed i got this chapter out. I hope you guys continue to enjoy it! 
> 
> This chapter is more fluff. Sandalphon is no longer around, so there is no need to be afraid. I applaud you for making it through.

Grass squished under Aziraphale’s bare feet, and off somewhere in the distance, he could hear the sound of a waterfall. It ran into a lake, which formed the river, which broke apart into a wishbone shape and fled off the edges of the ground, into nothingness. Nothingness did surround them, when Aziraphale looked. It had taken him a moment, once he’d been set down, to find his bearings. And he found them out behind him, where the world disappeared into nothing but _sky_. It was black as night, where the sun had gone down, and speckled full of stars and nebulae the likes Aziraphale had never seen. Aziraphale would have gawked longer, but he was eventually drawn back inward, away from the ledge of the world, where the grass was. The plants grew. There were roses and flowers and vines that hung from trees too tall to see. Midst it all was the Snake God, standing there. If snakes could stand.

The Snake God was significantly smaller than he had been, and when he slithered closer, he was still much taller than Aziraphale. But it wasn’t terrifying. Maybe a few feet, Aziraphale realized, and that didn’t account for the rest of his tail that slung out behind him. But it did seem that there was only some portion of it that he could use as a place to set himself, and Aziraphale smiled at the thought. He would learn things. This Snake God was much less terrifying, much less sizable. Aziraphale even dared to think he was _attractive._

“That went down like a lead balloon,” the Snake God snorted. The first thing he did was reach out for Aziraphale, and when Aziraphale flinched, he hesitated. Aziraphale _noticed_ the hesitation and stopped himself. He didn’t want to invite any sort of wrath. If that meant letting the Snake God touch him here and now, then he would. Only, the Snake God’s claws went no lower than his head. All he’d done was remove the headdress, the veil. The Snake God held the ornate thing awkwardly in his hands, then stared at Aziraphale.

“Your name is Aziraphale, isn’t it?”

“Y-Yes, great Holy One—”

“Oh, please. Don’t do that,” the Snake God snorted. “Don’t call me that; I don’t do titles.”

“What should I call you then?” Aziraphale nearly squeaked.

“My name, I’d hope. That’s what I’ll be calling you.”

“I don’t—forgive me, my lord, but I don’t know your name.” Aziraphale’s hands shot over his mouth like he’d just spoken blasphemy. The Snake God stared at him, then snorted out a laugh.

“First, they go off and tell everyone that _I_ demand those rituals, then they don’t even have the decency to teach people my name. It’s Crowley, by the way. Crowley.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale repeated slowly, quietly, and behind his hands like it wasn’t something for him to say. Crowley smiled, though. With the snap of his fingers, Aziraphale’s headdress disappeared. Crowley slung himself backwards, then, and gestured out towards the world behind him.

“Why don’t you go explore for a bit? This is to be your new home, so you may as well get to know it. When you’re done, there’s a large structure in the middle. You’ll find me there.”

“A-Are you sure, my lor—Crowley? I—” Aziraphale wrung his hands together. “Are you sure there isn’t something more pressing we should do?” The way Aziraphale shifted so his hands were out of the way of his chest did not go unnoticed, but Crowley’s eyes didn’t linger for longer than a second.

“Nothing at all,” Crowley replied. It was dismissive sounding. Uninterested. Unimpressed. Crowley dipped off to the side and disappeared into the underbrush. It wasn’t so much disappearing as it was leaving, and Aziraphale refusing to watch him go. A whole minute passed before the entirety of him, tail too, was gone entirety. Silence was left in his place, and Aziraphale wrapped his arms around himself.

It was becoming a reflex, to cover himself like that. Even if all his life he’d worn large, baggy robes, this past day being stripped naked and allowed to wear nothing more than flimsy fabric left him feeling vulnerable. He couldn’t imagine what it would feel like to wear a true shirt, though. Not with the way his nipples were still throbbing from his new piercings—Gabriel had been right. They were wounds that did not deter the Snake God. In fact, Crowley hadn’t even glanced at them. Crowley had left him on his own, and after increasingly tense minutes passed, Aziraphale realized this wasn’t some sort of test. Crowley had meant it.

The Snake God wanted Aziraphale to explore his new home, not immediately drop to his knees to present himself. Aziraphale quite literally had the run of the place, and with the grass between his toes, he thought he might actually run. He’d never been able to spend long outside. The longest he’d ever spent was his first trip out to the village, which had been a day trip. Sandalphon had showed him the whole village, and come nightfall, told him that he was never to leave the temple on his own. Sandalphon wasn’t around anymore to tell him where he could and could not go. He would never see Sandalphon again, should this work. The gods help him, Aziraphale would make this work.

Aziraphale followed the sound of the water all the way to the edge of the world, where he watched it pour off the side in a massive waterfall, then disappear down so far into nothingness that he couldn’t tell what had happened. He could see the stars, down there. How they spread out and sparkled, shimmered. There were all sorts of colors that flew through the sky, and even in the darkness of it, there was enough light for Aziraphale to see. He wouldn’t tumble off the edge of the world, and he suspected that, even if he did, something would protect him.

He followed the river, then, backwards and into the world. He passed under willow trees, under red woods covered in vines, and trees he didn’t recognize. He passed around flowers and bushes, over thorns, and under hanging leaves. It was a garden, he realized. The whole world was one giant garden, where he spotted small little plants in ornate pots scattered around. There were rocks organized by the river, through it to cross, and they led Aziraphale straight to the wishbone fork. Where the river met back up, it was larger. Aziraphale crossed through a rock bridge and followed down the thicker part of the river, to the lake. To the waterfall he had heard earlier, where it fell straight down from a high wall that didn’t seem connected to a thing. The water had no origin, but it flowed endlessly. In the lake, there were fish. There were frogs that jumped from lily pads.

Birds sang in the background, and insects buzzed around. They never came too close, never enough to cause a bother. Aziraphale’s walk was an easy one. He kept to the path of the river, and around him, through the brush and the bushes and the trees—he could see other animals. A deer had passed by. Somewhere underneath it had been a rabbit, or several. Aziraphale was even sure that he saw a turtle. Of course, then, there were tiny fireflies that lit up the path as the world seemed to grow darker. As night fell heavier over the real world, so it did here. It led Aziraphale straight back on the river path.

As Aziraphale edged closer to the middle of the world, there were structures that began to pop up. Marble walls and pillars that were half buried and covered in ivy, in garden greens. Some of the broken walls housed more plants in small little pots. Others were bare an empty. They all led in the same direction. To the giant structure in the middle of the world, made of dark marble that shined around the fireflies as they flitted in and out. The stairs were grand, but few, and Aziraphale retained his breath when he climbed them.

Inside, the walls were draped in a crimson red. Plants continued to scatter in and out, some wild, some in pots, and the floor had a stripe of fabric lain out across it like a carpet. Aziraphale followed it to more stairs, where he had walked through what seemed a sitting area. There were real chairs, but something about them seemed untouched and strange. The only chair that looked touched was a large, lounging thing that out-sized everything in the room.

At the second set of stairs, Aziraphale climbed, and realized just where he was standing moments later. This was Crowley’s bedroom. The bed spread out in the middle of the room made that painfully obvious. It was large. Nearly as large as the room itself, and sized perfectly with the hole in the ceiling where the light poured in. For being a god, Crowley’s bed was strangely human. It had a mound of pillows in all different colors, shapes, and styles. The sheets were a solid black, the blankets the same. What was on top of them was ever more exciting, however, because it was Crowley. He was draped out on the bed, lying on his back, with his tail spun half around the bed and lying out on the floor. For how large the bed was, and Crowley still didn’t fit.

What’s more, he seemed to be _sleeping_. Nothing stirred him. Not as Aziraphale approached the bed, not as he climbed on, and not as he sat down beside Crowley’s body. The part where he was skin and human, where his eyes were closed, and his hair spread out like a halo of fire on the black of the sheets. This close, Aziraphale could see the sharp angles of Crowley’s jaw, his cheekbones, his nose. Even his eyes were thin, jagged with purpose. Aziraphale thought he was rather lovely, even down through the jut of his collarbone and the outline around the bottom of his ribcage, where his stomach dipped down and vanished into bony hips and _tail._ Aziraphale kept his hands to himself, but his eyes did wander down that tail.

Nightstands were situated on either side of the bed, which seemed a funny thing. There wasn’t much a god of snakes would have with nightstands, but atop the one on the left was a stand of sorts. Around that stand was Aziraphale’s headdress, sitting pretty on display. On a stand, Aziraphale did have a thought for its beauty. He hadn’t cared for it much on himself, but he could appreciate it from a distance. There had been snakes interwoven and carved around his head, in a golden fashion. From them, the veil had hung down to cover everything below his eyes in a sheer, red fabric. It was beautiful, there, away from Aziraphale. Where he didn’t have to think of everything that transpired to put him in this outfit.

It was an accidental touch, where Aziraphale’s arm brushed up against Crowley’s ribs, that woke Crowley up. Nothing more than a brush, and Crowley had jolted awake. He’d taken one look at Aziraphale before pushing himself up to sit as well as a humanoid creature could sit with a snake’s body below the hips. It looked rather awkward, but Crowley didn’t seem uncomfortable. In fact, he lounged back into the pillows and took a moment to yawn before looking at Aziraphale.

“I didn’t mean to wake you, my lord,” Aziraphale said.

“It’s Crowley, my name, and you didn’t wake me. Probably best I don’t nap, anyway. Last time I napped, nearly slept a century away.”

Aziraphale was taken aback by that, and Crowley just smiled at his reaction.

“I won’t be sleeping that long with you around, you’ve my word.”

“Will we be particularly busy…?” Aziraphale asked, and he scooted closer. They were in a bed. Together. Close enough that Aziraphale could reach out and drag his fingers over Crowley’s scales, if he so desired. He wouldn’t dare touch Crowley without permission, but he did stare with batted eyelashes. Crowley shifted and found something else to look at, across the room.

“Not particularly. I can provide you with all manner of entertainment, should you desire. I’ve access to everything the world has ever known—books, music, scribe tools. If you need something, I can acquire it.”

Aziraphale’s eyes went a little wide. That’s not what he had expected to be told. It sounded quite like Crowley intended to take care of _him_. Was it not supposed to be the other way around? Was he not here to attend to Crowley’s ever need?

“Should I not serve you, my lord?”

Crowley shrugged. “If I need help washing myself, I’ll let you know. How’s that? And it’s _Crowley_, please. Call me Crowley.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale repeated. “I don’t understand. I thought it was my duty to serve you. To do everything that you would please—”

“I like the company,” Crowley admitted. “There’s more to it, but mostly, I like the company. Being a god is lonely business, you know. Having someone to talk to does wonders for the motivation.”

Aziraphale cracked a small smile. “What of the arrangements, then? Am I to sleep, well…” Aziraphale trailed off and stared at the bed sheets, instead. He wouldn’t dare be presumptuous. If Crowley wanted him chained to the bed post, sleeping on a cushion on the floor, Aziraphale would thank him for such generous accommodations. It would be fitting for a servant to sleep like that. Ideally, though, he might share Crowley’s bed.

“I could craft you a private space, if you like,” Crowley said. Every word out of his mouth was a word Aziraphale had not expected, and it left him stunned and staring.

“A…private space?” He’d never had one of those before. His room at the temple hadn’t even had a door and felt more like a closet than it had any sort of room. He had enjoyed the communal aspect, if not so much the lack of privacy. He’d never had a private room to himself. Much less a _space_, which sounded far more exciting than a room. Still, there was that vein of disappointment. After seeing Crowley in such a normal size—as normal as a god could be, perhaps, still several feet taller than Aziraphale at his shortest—Aziraphale had found he was attractive. What terrified him before left him feeling rather excited. He almost wanted to know just how Crowley would hurt him.

“Do you want something to eat?” Crowley suddenly asked. Aziraphale jerked and looked straight at him, eyes wider than they’d been before. “Sorry,” Crowley continued. “I’m not sure if I said something wrong, but I don’t mean to upset you. I realized, then, you haven’t had anything to eat all day. Stupid humans and their stupid rituals—” Crowley cut himself off. Aziraphale didn’t seem bothered by the comment, but Crowley sighed regardless.

“Do you want food?” Crowley asked again.

“I—I probably shouldn’t,” Aziraphale muttered, but the crack in his voice betrayed how badly he wanted to eat. He hadn’t eaten all day, not even the roll that Gabriel stole for him. He missed Gabriel, he realized. He missed someone who felt like a friend.

“Nonsense. Humans need to eat, don’t they? Gods don’t, but I can. If eating _with me_ would make you feel better.”

“Wh-why does it matter if I feel alright?”

“You’re mine.” Like it was obvious. Crowley was suddenly slithering across the bed, closer to Aziraphale, until they were sat inches apart. “Maybe you didn’t want this, but they’ve given you to me. In return, I take care of them. I take care of you.”

“Th—that’s not what I was told,” Aziraphale muttered. Crowley frowned.

“Whoever told you I would _hurt_ you is a liar.” Crowley was suddenly sneering, throwing himself off the bed. “It was that priest, wasn’t it? That—that nasty one. I should smite him where he stands—”

“Please, don’t,” Aziraphale pleaded. He kneed across the bed to sit at the end of it and let his legs dangle down. “Please, don’t hurt any of them.”

Crowley’s face softened all at once. He didn’t know the circumstance, and the look on Aziraphale’s face told him it was the wrong time to ask. So, he slunk back across the room and sat down on the edge of the bed. Aziraphale was a sight, and it was everything Crowley could do not to let his eyes wander down, over every glorious inch of flesh revealed by his outfit. He shouldn’t look, so he didn’t. He kept his eyes on Aziraphale’s face and offered him the smallest smile he could manage.

“You belong to me now, Aziraphale. I will take care of everything you need. You only have to ask.”

Aziraphale shifted and said nothing.

“Let’s start with dinner, shall we? You can eat while I prepare your quarters.”

“I really shouldn’t—!” Aziraphale jumped up to his feet. He nearly tripped backward in his haste to get away, but Crowley caught him with the end of his tail. It coiled tightly around his waist and inched him back towards the bed. “I—” Aziraphale shuddered, but he steadied himself on Crowley’s tail and reveled in the feel of the scales under his hand. “I don’t want to look badly for you.”

Crowley grinned, and Aziraphale noticed firstly the sharp of his fangs. “You’re beautiful, Aziraphale. So, eat. It’s rude to not accept the offering of a god, you know.”

“I didn’t mean to be rude!” Aziraphale gasped. Crowley’s tail still hadn’t unwound itself.

“It was a joke. Here,” and Crowley snapped his fingers. A veritable buffet appeared in the bedroom, and Crowley gestured towards it. Only then, when Aziraphale looked like he would accept the food, did Crowley unwind his tail and let it drape dully on the floor. “As I said. You’re mine, and I will take care of you. Anything at all you need, just ask.”

Aziraphale did not ask, and he would not ask. He dipped across the room to the buffet to search through the food Crowley had provided. All of his favorites were laid out, as if Crowley had a reason to know them on top of his name. They’d never been properly introduced, but it hadn’t been necessary. Crowley was a god, and anything he wanted to know, he would know. It was simple as that, unless it played in well with a bit of luck. He was the god of luck, after all. And misfortune. Nothing unfortunate about guessing all of Aziraphale’s favorite foods right, and Aziraphale started with a rather plump and ripe looking pear.

By the time Crowley returned, Aziraphale had tried everything on the table. It had felt as though only minutes had passed, and yet somehow, ‘hour’ was on Aziraphale’s mind. Time wasn’t the same here, he was beginning to realize. Crowley had been gone for no more than a few minutes, and yet an hour had truly passed in the way of what had gone through. Aziraphale had eaten, he felt full, and Crowley looked as though he had exerted some amount of effort. His hair was pulled back into the braid.

There was no talking as the buffet disappeared, and Crowley took Aziraphale by the wrist. Not the hand, notably, and Aziraphale did feel a bit strange for it. No hands, no sharing a bed, no glances. They were the little things that Aziraphale had hoped for in between the worse things. Crowley had promise there would be nothing worse, but there would be nothing good, either. The hold didn’t even stay once they had hit the grass, and Aziraphale understood why that had happened. Crowley was smaller than he had been, but still large. The length of his tail alone meant that it was hard to walk side by side. Aziraphale had still _hoped_. Had still _wished_. Had still wanted something wonderful to occur in this new little fantasy world. But. He would get none of it.

He followed Crowley down the path for what had only been three minutes. Crowley’s abode was still in sight when they reached the new structure, a smaller and more comfortable looking marble thing. Always marble, always dark, and the inside was empty. Entirely empty, void, and it was only just barely large enough for Crowley to fit. His tail hung out the door, and he made a show of leaning into a wall so he wouldn’t hit his head on the ceiling. The middle of the building opened up into a second story, a circular little thing where a staircase wandered up. But Crowley stayed near the door, even if he had to hunch.

“It’s empty,” Aziraphale said.

“I’d hope you’d have ideas for how to fill it.”

Aziraphale blinked and looked back at Crowley. He looked serious. He intended to do whatever Aziraphale wanted, but it was to ensure he would _ask_ for it. For only what a short time they had known each other, Crowley was picking up on all the little things that Aziraphale had hoped he wouldn’t. Asking for things was something he’d been taught never to do. Things were offered at the goodness of something or someone, but Aziraphale was never to _ask_ for things. That would imply he was worthy to do just that, and he had never been. Crowley had sniffed that out of the air, called it disgusting, and leaned into the wall to make Aziraphale ask for things.

“I like books,” Aziraphale muttered.

“Books. How much do you like books?”

“More than anything. They never let me have any—” before Aziraphale could finish the thought, outrage burned in Crowley’s eyes, and he snapped his fingers. Bookshelves popped up on every wall, filled with books that Aziraphale had never heard of, never _seen_. Not a one of them was religious doctrine. Not a religious history. Not a religious religion. They looked like stories, like regular histories. Like things that Aziraphale would be able to bury himself in for the rest of his life.

“There’s a full bed set upstairs,” Crowley pointed. “Plenty of blankets. It can get cold here.”

“Where are we, anyway?” Aziraphale turned to look at Crowley. “I gather this is your home, but does it have a name?”

“Eden,” Crowley said. A name the books wouldn’t share.

Aziraphale didn’t visit Crowley every day, not for the first week. For the first week, he had been so taken by his environment and his books that he hadn’t ventured anywhere near Crowley’s abode. Instead, he’d watched the sky as it poured rained and shot lightning, but the world around him was dry and untouched. He had spent that entire day in bed, wrapped up under the blankets on his bed with books stacked up all around in. Some of the piles tumbled, but Aziraphale just used that as a sign that his next book was in that pile.

It was at the beginning of the second week that Aziraphale found himself treading back through the grass, to Crowley’s room. He’d realized quickly that he wouldn’t get a thing without asking, even if he found it rather cruel. Crowley said he was going to take care of him, so why couldn’t Crowley just know the things that needed fixing? Even for a god, that was an unrealistic and disgusting expectation. If Crowley were to know, it would be because he bored into Aziraphale’s soul and teared open his thoughts one by one. It was invasive, really, and Aziraphale knew Crowley would never do that. Not to him. It seemed to be something he did on people like Sandalphon.

On tentative steps, Aziraphale walked up the short flight of stairs and into the main room of the marble structure. He didn’t feel right calling it a house, given as it had no walls, but a temple didn’t feel right either. They were the only two who existed in Eden. Who else would be there to worship Crowley? Crowley, who was laid out and lounging on the magnificently large piece of furniture. He had a red piece of fabric draped over his hips, where his skin turned to scales, and he was staring intently at his own hand. In the ball of it, his hand, Aziraphale could see the red sparks of _magic._

“M-My Lord?” Aziraphale squeaked.

Crowley’s fingers snapped shut. “It’s Crowley,” a snap at the back of his throat that didn’t push through. Not quite enough to sound cruel. “Did you need something?”

“I—I had a request. I hope that’s alright.”

Crowley’s attention was suddenly on Aziraphale with intent, staring, with his pupils blown wide. If Aziraphale had half a mind, he would think it was because Crowley _wanted_ to be asked for help. But he was a god, that was a ridiculous notion. Crowley couldn’t actually enjoy the prospect of some petty mortal needing him for something, yet he slithered over the marble and came closer, until he was seated right in front of Aziraphale. Not so much towering over him as he was attempting to make himself smaller, still. To seem as nonthreatening as possible.

“What do you need?”

Aziraphale’s face flushed a pretty pink when he unfolded his arms. Crowley glanced down over his chest and realized immediately what he was looking for. His nipples were red and scabbing over; they looked painful, like the rings were not healing right. An infection, maybe, but Crowley didn’t dare assume. He looked back at Aziraphale and tilted his head to the side.

“Gods can…heal, right?” Aziraphale kept his eyes downcast.

“Yes.”

“Would you? I mean, heal this? It hurts so bad, Crowley, and I can’t—” Aziraphale sucked in a deep breath. “I couldn’t sleep last night. Each time I rolled over, if I brushed something wrong—oh, it’s excruciating.” Aziraphale finally deigned to look up at Crowley, like it might make his case. Aziraphale’s eyes were teary just at the memory of the pain. He had done everything he could not to touch his nipples since the night, even to the point where he had removed the top of his outfit.

“I can heal you, yes. Come,” Crowley offered his hand this time. Aziraphale took it, and it was the first time their hands had ever touched. He couldn’t ignore the sudden shock that went through his body at the _heat_ of Crowley. He was warm, fiery. Aziraphale would have wrenched his hand back of the heat didn’t somehow radiate a pleasantness. He wanted to wrap himself in it, if Crowley wanted. If Crowley would let him.

Crowley led Aziraphale back into his bedroom and promptly sat him on the bed. Aziraphale scooted back until he was comfortable, and then sat incredibly still. Crowley _coiled_ around him, a slow and arduous thing. Wrapped himself around two or three times until his tail was a heavy weight in Aziraphale’s lap and kept him in place. Then, Crowley was hovering in front of him on the strength of his tail alone. Still, he hadn’t touched Aziraphale. He was barely looking at him, and Aziraphale _swore_ that Crowley’s face had turned red.

“I’ll have to touch you,” Crowley muttered. “Is that alright?”

Aziraphale gave a subtle nod.

Crowley sunk down just an inch, until their eyes were level, and he could look at Aziraphale closely as his hands came closer. Aziraphale didn’t flinch, and he certainly didn’t try to back away from the touch. Even though he’d expected it to hurt, he wanted this. He wanted Crowley’s hands on him. Instead, he pulled back his shoulder and left a subtle arch in his back so Crowley would touch him faster. It took only seconds, then, hiding in the form of hours until Crowley’s claws pressed, one each over Aziraphale’s chest, over his nipples. His claws were unsuspectingly gentle, cupping Aziraphale’s flesh and pressing against him so gently that there was no pain. Aziraphale’s jaw even dropped open in a subtle gasp, his face red.

When Crowley’s claws pulled away, the pain went with them in strings of red, down into the beds of his fingers and disappeared entirely. In return, Aziraphale’s nipples had healed immediately, expertly. As if nothing at all had happened, save for the fact that the rings were still threaded through. Maybe Aziraphale had wanted them gone, or maybe it was just the memory of how they had arrived. Having Crowley’s claws on him for the first time erased the memory entirely, and all Aziraphale could do was stare forward. He wanted those claws back against him, as gentle as they were.

“Crowley—”

“Would you like new clothes?” Crowley’s voice sounded strained. “I can create anything for you. As covered or as bare as you like.”

“I… I don’t know,” Aziraphale blinked. “I’ve never—I’ve only ever had one thing to wear. I’ve never. I’m not sure what I’d like, really. I don’t entirely hate this; I could keep it. You shouldn’t worry yourself over petty things like this.”

“It’s not petty if I want to think about it,” Crowley said, eyebrow raised. He didn’t wait a second longer for approval or acceptance, he just snapped his fingers to whip up an entire wardrobe right there in his bedrooms. The outfits ranged from prudish to prostitute, and all of them were brightly colored. Beautiful. Made of the finest fabric. Soft, wonderful, and some of it was even _sheer_. Those were the more risqué outfits, and though Aziraphale looked at them, ran his fingers over them, he settled on something that was pure white.

Crowley didn’t even look away as Aziraphale disrobed. He looked right past him and tried not to think of how beautiful Aziraphale’s skin was or how gorgeous the white silk looked against him. He tried, with great effort, not to watch how his nipple rings dangled when he bent over to remove his ritual pants. He tried, with greater effort, not to glance over Aziraphale’s stout little cock and think about what it would be like to feel it. He faltered only when Aziraphale’s back faced him, where he could see the swell of his arse. His cheeks were fat, and they hung with their weight in a beautiful pear shape, plump and ripe for grabbing. Crowley could feel a warmth growing in him that was entirely what he didn’t need, and thankfully, he suffered only a moment longer.

Aziraphale turned to show off his new outfit, then. It was a robe of sorts, that was tight around the chest and hips, but hung loosely after that. Nearly to the floor. The whole thing was held together nicely with a tie, and the fabric clung to every roll and bump of Aziraphale’s body. Crowley’s tongue dipped out on its own thought. Truly. The collar scooped low, and the tightness only served to cause more problems. Aziraphale’s nipples and rings left an obscene outline in the robe, and if it had been any tighter, his cock would have too. Crowley swallowed.

“Keep it, all of it,” he said. “It’s for you. I’ll send it straight to your space, and you can do with it as you like.” He snapped his fingers, and the wardrobe was gone. “Burn it for all I care, but please—leave.”

“Crowley—”

“Please, leave,” Crowley rephrased. “I need a moment, please. Go entertain your books.”

Aziraphale ducked his head low and nodded. He all but ran from the room, and left Crowley there to slouch back on his bed and sigh. That had been close. He’d almost lost himself all at once. Just touching Aziraphale had set a fire through his claws, up his arms. It had been _painful_ to take his touch away, but he’d had to. And then, Aziraphale had gone and picked something so obscene from the wardrobe. Crowley should have known better than to test himself, but he _wanted_ Aziraphale. His body was alighted with want. He’d _seen_ Aziraphale’s body. There was nothing left to the imagination, and his imagination went wild.

Crowley closed his eyes and kept his claws dug into the bed. His cocks had something else in mind, thick now at the thought of Aziraphale like that. The dress had been obscene, the way it held Aziraphale’s body. Crowley wouldn’t want to take it off him, or maybe he would tear it off. Lay his tongue over Aziraphale’s skin to taste him, and his tongue was long. He would be able to wrap it through one of those nipple rings and tug just enough that Aziraphale gasped, _moaned_ when Crowley sucked around him. Aziraphale’s hips would buck up into Crowley’s, to feel the rough texture of his scales between his thighs. Crowley wouldn’t dare use his claws on Aziraphale, too afraid to hurt him, but he would use his mouth in every way he could.

Marks like constellations popped up over Aziraphale’s body as Crowley sucked along his skin, loved at him. Until he’d reached Aziraphale’s thighs, and the type of his body let him wind into unfathomable shapes. He could wrap his tail around Aziraphale’s hips to keep him still while he marked his thighs, kissed them and bit them. His tongue would coil around the base of Aziraphale’s cock, then, and stroke along him until he was hard and dripping. Every pass of Crowley’s tongue would all but milk the next drop of precum from him, and then Crowley would close his lips around it. Careful, always careful of the sharp things about him.

He could hear Aziraphale’s moans in his head, and it was the final straw. He wrapped one of his clawed hands around his cocks and stroked himself. Aziraphale bucked his hips in Crowley’s mind, trying to find release in Crowley’s throat. Crowley would let him. He would suckle and squeeze with his tongue until Aziraphale was shouting, coming undone beneath him. Then, Crowley would pull away and promise with a hiss that he wasn’t done yet. He wanted more.

His imagination helpfully skipped over the details that would matter if they did lay together. Crowley’s hands were clawed, sharp—it wouldn’t be a pleasant experience for Aziraphale to have that inside him. No, but in the dream, Aziraphale presented himself on his knees with a dripping, glistening, and gaping hole. Crowley hadn’t had a concern in the world for it, and somehow, Aziraphale accepted both of his cocks without so much as a whimper. The contrary. Aziraphale was eager for it. He begged and cried for more, even when Crowley’s scales were pressed up against him, rolling as he worked himself against Aziraphale. Oh, if he could somehow produce a third cock, he would shove it inside that willing body. Aziraphale bloomed so pretty for him, crying out with ecstasy.

Crowley squeezed at the base of his cock to prevent humiliating himself further. He wasn’t about to knot the thin air—he was a god. There was no excuse for his behavior, rutting into his own hand. Still, he’d done it. He’d come over himself in a mess, but the relief that washed over him a second after was worth it. It had been centuries since he’d fucked anyone, and the same since he’d had such a pleasant release. It would be the only one he’d allow himself, and with it, a curse. He should have just accepted any old Sacrifice. Gods weren’t supposed to feel so _warm_ about their things, even if Crowley had been picky. He would have been nice to any of them. He wouldn’t have been so stupid, though. With any of them. Aziraphale was special.

Aziraphale, on the other hand, had run the moment he hit the grass. His haste had him falling, face down in the mud, but he pushed himself back up. He continued to hurry, to hobble on his ankle that now wretchedly ached, but he wouldn’t go back to Crowley. Not after that. That had been horrid. If striping himself bare hadn’t worked, he thought for sure the outfit he’d picked would. A moment of confidence had led him to it, because he’d known exactly how it would look on him. Every roll, every bump, every imperfection that he had would have been out for show. But the good things too. Crowley shouldn’t have been able to resist him—unless Sandalphon had been right.

Of all the things Crowley could have thought about him, Aziraphale had hoped that _tolerable_ had been on the list. Hideous was a stretch, even of what little confidence Aziraphale retained. Hideous had never been a way he’d described himself. Most of his self-descriptions came directly from Michael, when she told him things about how body. She’d told him how fat he was, how distasteful. But never hideous. Even Michael hadn’t thought he was _hideous_. Maybe Crowley did. Maybe that was why Crowley wouldn’t take him. Aziraphale was just too ugly for a god to even deign fucking.

By the time Aziraphale finally dragged himself back into his small quarters, he was crying again. He felt ridiculous—but so much had _happened_. He was allowed to cry. He was safe here, even if Crowley didn’t want to fuck him. He wouldn’t be berated for crying, for having emotions, so he was going to have as many as he wanted. His ankle hurt; his chest hurt. Everything was dreadful, and he couldn’t stop himself from toppling the wardrobe once he’d reached it. The clothes clattered out to the floor and left a mess in their wake, but Aziraphale didn’t care. He limped to the sofa, a new edition for his reading, and fell against it.

Aziraphale lost himself in the books, after that. He read anything that was within the reach of the couch, fell asleep, and woke up to read again. He never had to want for food, wine, or water. If he wanted it, it appeared before him dressed on silver platters and in fine golden cups. It was always just exactly what he was in the mood for and always particularly tasty. The wine never burned too bad, the water never tasted of too much iron, and the food was never wrongly prepared. Everything was amazing, and it was a better excuse to stay in his own house than he needed.

When he wasn’t reading, he was thinking about Crowley. It had been two days since he’d even moved from the couch, even though his ankle was already feeling better. He had no interest in moving from his spot; he had food when he needed it, and no matter what book he picked up, it was always interesting. Stimulating. It was only in the down time, when he dreamed or looked for a new book, that he thought about Crowley. Maybe he had thought far too hard about him, for on the third day, there was a knocking on his door. He who knocked didn’t wait for acceptance, just entered.

The wardrobe was fixed all on its own as Crowley slithered through the house, and he came to drape himself over the back of the couch, on his folded arms. Aziraphale was still wearing the same white wrap, and the two of them stared at each other for a long moment. Better that than to look down at the wrap, to see the same obscene display of Aziraphale’s nipples poking through the silken fabric. Crowley was rather done with that whole ordeal.

“Would you accompany me to the lake?” Crowley asked.

“If you would please,” came an impersonal response. Crowley ignored it pointedly and swallowed his annoyance.

“I would. You can bathe, too.”

“Wait—” that caught Aziraphale’s attention. He set his boo aside and sat up properly. “We’re to bathe? I didn’t—I didn’t realize.”

“You had no reason to realize. I will provide you with soaps and oils, just come with me.”

“But—but why? What do I need—”

“You are going to bathe too,” Crowley sneered. “And maybe I’d like some company. I didn’t realize this was up for debate.”

The snap in his voice almost hurt, but his eyes were dull with it. He’d snapped, but there was no bite behind it, no fire. He wasn’t angry, but he would be if Aziraphale didn’t play to his whims. Aziraphale stood on wobbly legs and accepted Crowley’s help when he offered. If not for the cramped spaces, Crowley would have whisked him off his feet and simply carried him. Though it seemed rather inappropriate a thing to do, the second they were outside, Crowley did just that. There was no room for argument, featuring a very obvious strain on his ankle, and Aziraphale settled in against Crowley’s chest.

Once Aziraphale was being deposited on the ground, he knew they were at the lake. The waterfall was sounding off, the grass was wet between his toes, and everything smelled of moist dew. On the edge of the lake was a small basket filled with the things Crowley had promised. There was soap, oils, and small towels. Something one might find in one of the bigger cities far away from the village Aziraphale grew up in. He’d only heard about them in stories, in books, but surely, they existed. Surely, if Crowley had tried, he could be a god of one of them. A better place with better people. There was no room to question a god. Not if Aziraphale wanted things to continue going smoothly.

He watched as Crowley dipped into the lake. His tail curled around underneath him, and he sunk into the water until he could rest his head against the grass. He was—_relaxing_. It seemed all Crowley spent his time doing, relaxing. He never had a book or a thing to do. It was sleep or something quite near sleep. But sleep made him easy to approach. Aziraphale didn’t feel too strange kneeling down next to Crowley’s head to look at him. Crowley was still just as beautiful as he’d been when Aziraphale saw him, but the shine of the water seemed to enhance it. Crowley was near glistening.

“Will you bathe with me?” Crowley asked. He cracked open an eye to see Aziraphale so close, then grinned. “I was hoping to talk, anyway. Might be nicer in the water.”

“It’s plenty nice up here.”

“Don’t you humans bathe?”

“Often enough.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. His big, golden eyes. Aziraphale gulped down his emotions and looked out to the water, which ripped with every slight shift Crowley’s tail made underneath it. Bathing in a lake didn’t seem like the best way to actually clean himself, but Aziraphale wasn’t entirely sure if asking for a proper bath, eventually, would be rude. Not when Crowley was in the lake, bathing. Relaxing, more like, but maybe he wanted Aziraphale to do something for him. Maybe this was the beginning—and if a lake was good enough for a god, it better be good enough for Aziraphale.

Aziraphale ensured Crowley was still looking at him when he stood up and took hold of the wrap at his middle. He’d tied it properly in a cute little bow, and all he had to do was tug once. It fell apart, the tie. It opened. With it, the robes fell open. All it took was a shrug of his shoulders, and the robe pooled down around his ankles, in the grass. Crowley hadn’t looked away, not for a second. His eyes just roamed, glancing down over each new inch of skin exposed to him. The bob in his neck as he swallowed—Aziraphale didn’t miss it. He wouldn’t miss Crowley’s reaction for the world.

Then, the water felt a nice and cool relief against him as he stepped down into the lake. He took one step too far in and realized quickly that it wasn’t ground he was standing on. It was something hard, rough—Crowley’s tail had coiled up underneath him for a place to stand, and that had Aziraphale whipping around to look back at Crowley, who shrugged.

“Deep water,” he said. “Don’t want you drowning.”

Aziraphale sucked in a deep breath and took it one step farther. One step back. Until he could straddle over Crowley’s hips and plant himself right down over Crowley’s tail, close enough that he could lean against Crowley’s chest if he so desired. Being this close made it obvious that Crowley wasn’t just tall—he was large. He was bigger than a human, simply because he could be no smaller than this. The length of him had been intimidating enough, but this close together, Aziraphale realized that everything was just a big bigger. Even Crowley’s hands—claws—were twice the size of Aziraphale’s.

“Shall I wash you?” Aziraphale wondered.

Crowley gulped, nodded, and hadn’t a voice to speak out loud. He sat there in passive silence as Aziraphale reached around him for the soaps and the oils and begun with some practiced intelligence on just how to wash someone. Which made sense. Crowley berated himself for thinking something so stupid. Aziraphale had washed himself before, surely, he knew how to watch someone else. It wasn’t a secret art; it was just touching. It was just Aziraphale touching him with his hands, naked against him, and seated just right over his hips that there was no way he couldn’t feel the ripple of Crowley’s scales when they moved. If Aziraphale moved farther down just a scale or two, he’d be right over where they parted open for Crowley’s cocks—

With that thought out in the open, Crowley found his voice immediately. They needed to talk. They needed to fill the silence, so he didn’t have time to think about how glorious Aziraphale looked like this, how the touch of his hand was gentle and hot all at the same time. How his forwardness had left Crowley wondering if he’d accidentally accepted an experienced Sacrifice. They were supposed to be virgins—Crowley _liked_ virgins. He hadn’t checked, though. He’d seen Sandalphon’s thoughts and whisked Aziraphale away immediately.

So, they talked. They didn’t talk about anything important or the things they needed to talk about, but they talked. Aziraphale told Crowley about his life in the temple, the good parts. He talked about the garden, his lessons, and Gabriel. In return, Crowley talked about his life in Eden. Crowley wasn’t entirely sure where he came from, but most gods felt this way. They were willed into existence by a desperate place, and that seemed the best explanation. Everything else had been a bit of a lonely existence. Aziraphale hadn’t been the first Sacrifice Crowley took, but he’d been the first one in a very long time.

“Her name was Eve,” Crowley said. They had both finished washing, and Aziraphale had made himself a spot against Crowley’s neck to lay. The feeling of skin on skin was enticing and talking was the only way Crowley could distract himself. “I had her hundreds of years ago, when the village was first created.”

“What happened to her?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley shrugged. “She died. Humans do that.”

Aziraphale didn’t press further. In fact, only a second later was Crowley pulling Aziraphale away from him and setting him up on the edge of the lake. It was well into the afternoon, now, and Aziraphale’s skin had begun to shrivel under the water. Crowley kept his eyes firmly planted elsewhere, and Aziraphale felt a sudden urge to cover himself up. He hadn’t meant to bring up painful memories, and that’s quite what it seemed he’d done. Crowley looked distressed but did pull himself up to sit on the bank beside Aziraphale.

“Please, dress yourself,” Crowley said.

“Was she pretty?” Aziraphale asked. He hadn’t meant to, and Crowley’s shoulder stiffened at the question.

“She was.”

“Am I not pretty? Handsome? Anything?”

When Crowley hadn’t an answer immediately, Aziraphale pushed himself to his feet and found his robes. He wrapped them around himself with rough hands, sending his energy everywhere he could that might prevent him from making a fool of himself, here. He didn’t need to blubber and cry in front of the Snake God. He could do that in his home—but he needed to get away from the lake as fast as he could. He needed to fall apart somewhere where Crowley wouldn’t look at him as he did, but Crowley was grabbing him by the arm and dragging him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im not sorry for this cliff hanger


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER THREE HELLO AND WELCOME.
> 
> Meant to get this up yesterday, but yesterday was real rough. So, here it is today. Totally finished and a little less than fully edited, but that's just my brand at this point. I do apologize for the cliff hanger, so here is the thrilling conclusion! Enjoy <3

Aziraphale tripped over himself in his way back into Crowley’s arms. Crowley’s tug was nothing short of relentless, and the grip didn’t end until Aziraphale had smacked face first into Crowley’s chest. Only then, a second later, did he let go of Aziraphale entirely and allow him to pull back. His claws returned immediately, the palms of them gentle around Aziraphale’s face as Crowley ducked down to meet his eyes. Aziraphale could have stared at those eyes forever, they were so golden. It was the color of the world’s finest riches, and yet just out of reach as they’d always been. Not for Aziraphale.

There was a long moment where all they did was look at each other. Crowley never blinked, and the only breath he took was a sharp inhale, a sigh, and then nothing. In contrast, Aziraphale’s breath was heavy and frenzied, his eyes wide and blinking far more frequently than he might ordinarily require. His heartbeat in his chest faster than it should, and everything around him felt heavy and sluggish. That moment ended as fast as it began, when Crowley’s tail slipped around beneath them to coil around one of Aziraphale’s legs.

A precaution. Aziraphale hated himself for thinking that, but that’s what it was. Crowley meant to keep him there, where he stood. Otherwise, Aziraphale would have certainly run away from this. He knew well enough that Crowley would not follow into his abode, not if he saw him so upset. The tail would keep it all from happening. Even if Aziraphale’s heart constricted.

“Why would you ask me a question like that and then run?” Crowley asked. He sounded hurt.

“You didn’t answer—”

“You didn’t give me time! Just—wait, won’t you? For a minute.”

Aziraphale gave a subtle nod and half expected Crowley to duck away, to pull back his touch and his tail, and to go on back about his business. Business that didn’t involve Aziraphale, and maybe never would. Instead, Crowley leaned forward until their breaths would mingle, if Crowley breathed. They were nearly close enough to touch, but Aziraphale wouldn’t push it. He gave Crowley the minute he requested, all the time that he needed, and didn’t so much as flinch when Crowley’s claws traveled down to grab at his arms instead of his face.

“You’re an angel,” Crowley said. It was a quiet thing, like if he spoke it too loud, reality would suddenly shatter. Like Aziraphale would shatter. “I’ve never seen someone like you. You’re what I’ve been _waiting_ for—”

“How is that possible?” Aziraphale wrenched away, all but forgetting that Crowley’s tail was wrapped around his shins. He fell back, and Crowley reached out to grab him. Aziraphale couldn’t struggle away from his touch, not even if he wanted to. He reveled in the heat of Crowley’s claws, his _skin_, when he fell back into Crowley’s chest. Aziraphale _refused_ to cry again, not this close. Not when he might just have everything he was dreaming of. Crowley would take him, grab him, _hurt_ him.

“I’m fat, I’m hideous, I’m—” Aziraphale’s breath caught in his throat. “I’m _nothing_.”

“You’re everything,” Crowley hissed. “You’re breathtakingly beautiful. I’ll hunt _down _whoever told you those things and tear them limb from limb, do you hear me?”

“Crowley.” Aziraphale pulled back to look at him.

“I wish you understood,” Crowley muttered. “I wish I had time to explain everything.”

“Why do you have to explain? What is there to explain? Crowley—I belong to you, don’t I? _Take_ me.” Aziraphale clung around Crowley’s neck, bearing up at him with wide eyes. “You can do anything you like with me, please. I was made to take your cock—”

“Who taught you to speak like that?” Crowley hissed.

“Th-they told me what I should expect. That I should be ready to offer myself to you, and—”

“I am many things,” Crowley continued, his tongue slipping out between his teeth on the last sound. “I am a snake,” his tail’s coil tightened. “I am a _god_,” and Aziraphale felt the sudden warmth that passed through him, “but I am _not_ a rapist—” an angry hiss. “I will never hurt you. I will never _force_ you—whoever told you otherwise will find themselves buried in the deepest pits of Hell.”

Crowley all but devoured Aziraphale after that, pressing against him and holding him close. Their lips met in a sudden clack of teeth, and Aziraphale scrambled for purchase in Crowley’s skin. His nails scraped and dug as he was kissed—he’d never _been_ kissed. He didn’t know what to do, but he let Crowley coax him alone, drag him into the kiss. Aziraphale’s lips parted for Crowley’s tongue, and he would have parted his _legs_ for him too, but Crowley’s tail held them tightly closed.

Crowley’s tail held him up, which gave Crowley’s _hands_ optimal space for roaming. His claws dragged over Aziraphale’s skin, ever light in his intentions. Even if he made a point of catching the tips of his nails on Aziraphale’s nipple rings, through his robes. Aziraphale gasped into their kiss, and Crowley’s tongue only dove deeper. His claws dropped down to grab Aziraphale by the hips, and that was then the whole thing shattered. He could feel Aziraphale’s prick through his robes—Aziraphale was _hard_. He was enjoying this. _Crowley_ was enjoying this.

Crowley ripped back immediately, his tail pulling away, and Aziraphale dropped down into the grass. From there, he stared up at Crowley. They were both just as shocked and horrified as the other, though horrified wasn’t the word. Aziraphale looked delighted. His lips were parted, slightly swollen, and they perked ever so lightly into a smile. Crowley was horrified, though. Crowley shouldn’t have initiated that. He shouldn’t have _kissed_ Aziraphale. Now he had a taste for him, and he was of the sweetest, reddest wine. Crowley wanted to taste more, to learn exactly, specifically what type of wine. How old. From what place. He couldn’t do that. Aziraphale was too much of a temptation.

“We can’t,” Crowley said. “We can’t.”

“Why can’t we? Am I not enough for you? Is there something so horribly wrong with me that you can’t—?” Aziraphale scrambled back up to his feet as he spoke.

“No!” Crowley bellowed. “You are _everything_, angel. More than I could have ever hoped to have, and that is exactly why I can’t touch you.” Crowley was already slithering away or trying to. He didn’t get very far before Aziraphale’s voice stopped him.

“Did you touch Eve?”

Crowley didn’t dare give that an answer, and instead sped off through the trees. Aziraphale wouldn’t be able to catch him, and he wouldn’t even try. He went the opposite direction, back to his own home. He closed the door, where a lock manifested, and he used it. There was no way it would truly stop the god of Eden, but it would make him feel better to have the space to himself. Even if he didn’t want his books or his food, now. He did stop at the wardrobe. In hindsight, he might have moved it upstairs to where his bed was, but this was fine too. If Crowley wanted to barge through the front door again to find him naked, then maybe that’s what needed to happen.

The new outfit he chose was a soft blue, and it hung tight around his shoulders. There were no sleeves, this time, and the fabric was mostly sheer. Even if the fabric did cross at his chest and cover his nipples, they still poked through, they were still visible. The fabric crossed down to his waist, where the whole thing was held together with nothing but a golden belt. The fabric was laced with gold, drawn in leafy, beautiful patterns. The whole thing ended down in a flowing skirt with slits on either side for his legs. This time, he accompanied them with sandals. He was tired of walking barefoot.

He wouldn’t march over to Crowley’s room now, though. Not after what had happened. He’d said something terrible, when he mentioned Eve. That was a story he didn’t know, and one that perhaps Crowley didn’t want to share. Still, Aziraphale had taken advantage of it. Used it as a weapon against Crowley when he should have been trying to bring them _together_. Maybe Sandalphon had been wrong, but there was something different now. It wasn’t about Aziraphale seeking to his duty, it was about _want_. He wanted Crowley. He wanted Crowley to look at him, to _choose_ to take him. As roughly or as gently as he might desire.

Now, it was just a matter of finding out why Crowley was so against it. Nothing about Crowley’s confession had seemed a lie, so Aziraphale had no choice but to believe it. Crowley really did think he was everything, that he was an _angel_. Angel. That’s what Crowley had called him. Not just in word, but in name. Seconds later, Aziraphale had done everything in his power to ruin whatever was starting. The way Crowley had _looked_ at him before they kissed. Hungry. With desire. In that moment, Crowley had wanted nothing more but to hold Aziraphale up in his tail and _fuck_ him. But he hadn’t. He’d stopped himself.

Aziraphale would afford him time; that was the kindest thing to do. But in the morning, he would find out the truth. He needed to know the truth—they needed to _talk_. And not the talking they had done in the water, but real talking. True talking. A conversation that would lead them to figuring something out. Aziraphale didn’t know how much more of this he could take. Maybe it was a fool’s errand to fall so hard in such a short time, but nobody had ever looked at him the way Crowley had. Nobody had ever talked to him that way or treated him so well. There was nothing more that he wanted but to see those eyes again, to feel those claws on him again. To know just what kind of _things_ Crowley would do to him—for him. _For_ him.

After Aziraphale woke up, it had taken exactly two breakfasts before he had enough courage to even unlock his door. He’d slept well, he’d eaten well, yet still his hand hesitated on the knob. Outside, he could hear something fierce going on around their personal garden, and it sent a shiver through his spine. Outside, even if the rain and thunder would never touch the grounds, Aziraphale could look up and see the storm that raged. A presumptuous thing it was to believe the weather and Crowley were somehow tied, but Aziraphale did so believe it. Especially after what happened. He could only imagine what sort of fretful sleep Crowley had, if he had managed to sleep at all.

Crowley did seem to be awake, when Aziraphale approached his abode. He could see him through the spaces in the pillars, pacing about in the main room. Aziraphale might have thought to find him in the back, curled up on the bed and asleep, but maybe Crowley hadn’t slept at all. Maybe that was why the storm raged on above them, because Crowley was exhausted. He’d run himself around in panic and fret over what had happened and left the whole world a mess. Only, nothing stilled when Aziraphale approached. Crowley did, but only for a long moment to stare down at him in disbelief. Where Crowley had usually tried to bring himself to Aziraphale’s level, now, he towered down over him.

“I—” Aziraphale’s voice came out in a crack. He coughed and straightened the fabric around his shoulders. “I wanted to apologize, Crowley. I said rather horrible things to you yesterday, and it wasn’t right of me.”

Crowley lowered, just a foot.

“But I want to understand! I want to know _why_ you refuse to touch me. You have to tell me, please—”

Crowley was _inches_ from Aziraphale in a flash, a clawed hand over his shoulder, dragging up the fabric around his back. Crowley’s eyes were wide, angry, but he still hadn’t said a word. Without words, he coiled his tail up around Aziraphale and stole him from the ground, slinking off up the stairs to the bedroom, where he deposited Aziraphale on the bed before putting as much distance between them as he could, within the pillars of the bedroom.

“What reason do I have to tell you anything?” Crowley spat. “You’re a mortal. You’ll die, eventually. What use do you have for my secrets? For _my_ stories?”

“Because I want to know you, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, helplessly. He slouched in his place, kneeling on the bed with his hands dangling down between his spread knees. He looked helpless. He felt helpless. He wanted Crowley to _know_ he was helpless. Like that might make it easier to approach the subject with him, knowing that there was nothing Aziraphale could do with these stories. He couldn’t use them against Crowley in any way but words, and he already knew what a poor, tasteless idea that was.

“To know me,” Crowley repeated, and he said it with venom. It died out just as fast as it had come, and Aziraphale watched with care as Crowley actually sighed. He seemed to only breathe when he needed it. For the show. Or maybe it really did soothe him to let out a breath like that.

“They lied to you,” Crowley said. “They all lied to you about this.”

“Sandalphon did,” Aziraphale corrected. “He’s the Head Priest. He’s been training me for this all my life—”

“_Training_ you? What do you mean _training_ you?”

“T-telling me things,” Aziraphale corrected, but his voice stuttered. “I promise, I’ve never been—not like that. Please, Crowley, I haven’t—”

“That’s not the _issue_,” Crowley sneered. “This bastard has been hurting you for your whole life, and then he sends you to me and expects me to, what, continue it?! I won’t have this! I refuse, I—” and Crowley stopped short when he watched the way Aziraphale tensed at the yelling. Crowley’s voice quieted, and he looked at Aziraphale with a bit of longing. “Look,” he said, “I’ve never hurt anyone. I’m not very good at being a god. I’m not even sure why I am one.”

Aziraphale watched as Crowley slunk closer towards the bed. There was a healthy bit of space between them as Crowley slouched down on the sheets, propping himself up on his hands.

“Eve died because that’s what humans do, but she didn’t die up here. I—I sent her back. I couldn’t perform _my_ duty, even if she was beautiful. Her heart belonged to someone else, and I refused to be what your people thought I was. A vile, evil, nasty serpent thing. I wouldn’t do it.” Crowley sighed again. He draped one of his arms across his hips and looked at Aziraphale. “It’s true that a Sacrifice’s duty is to lie with me. Doesn’t mean they should be open to _rape._”

Aziraphale swallowed. That was exactly what Sandalphon had told him to be ready for. To be raped and abused, tortured even. To be treated like trash, like a dog. So far, Crowley had been nothing but the kindest host. He’d given Aziraphale the first private room he’d ever had. There were the clothes, the food, the _books_. Aziraphale had never been able to read so many stories, so many histories. He’d learned more in these two weeks than he ever had before, and it warmed his heart. As well, it also showed him how cruel his expectations had been. Not only for himself, but for Crowley. Crowley was sitting there _knowing_ that Aziraphale had been expecting rape.

“I’m sorry,” came Aziraphale’s pathetic, whispered apology. Crowley glanced at him from the corner of his eyes, then looked back down to the sheets.

“Anyway. I sent Eve back down. I broke my side of the promise, so here we are. I’m sure you’ve noticed your village beginning to fail, hm? My fault, that. Entirely my fault.”

“How do you mean?” Aziraphale moved a bit closer, inch by inch. If Crowley noticed, he didn’t seem to care.

Crowley looked at Aziraphale, then, and there was something painful behind his eyes that couldn’t quite be placed. It was a horrid thing to understand, in that moment, that Crowley looked at Aziraphale with care. With adoration, even, because care would never begin to describe the way he felt. He’d never been faced with a Sacrifice so pure, so compelling, and yet so everything else. Clever, beautiful, inquisitive. Aziraphale had been everything Crowley dreamed of, and yet he still could not fulfill his duty as a god of this village.

“I told you I’m not very good at being a god. Most gods take the first sacrifice they can get their grimy little hands on,” Crowley said. “I was picky. I wasn’t looking for someone to _fuck_.”

That at least confirmed it. Doubly confirmed it. Aziraphale _was_ here to be fucked, but something about that didn’t sit right with Crowley. For what Aziraphale experienced, he certainly wasn’t upset. Maybe that meant there was something more for him here than just an empty bed to be pressed into.

“I wanted a bride, I suppose,” Crowley sighed.

“Would it not be my duty, then, as your bride?” Aziraphale had inched even closer. His thigh rested only a hair away from Crowley’s scales now. “To please you?”

Crowley’s head jolted around until their eyes met, again. Aziraphale would never tire of staring at each other like this; Crowley’s eyes were the most beautiful things he’d ever seen. “You mean that, don’t you? _Fuck_, you mean that,” Crowley griped.

Crowley spun himself over and onto his front, to where he had one clawed hand on either side of Aziraphale’s lap. They were eye level, again, and Aziraphale could smell the thick scent of pine from Crowley’s hair. He was close enough to touch, to kiss, but Aziraphale found himself doing none of that. He inched back until he could lay flat on the bed, and Crowley rose up over top of him. This might finally be the moment, and Aziraphale wiggled with anticipation. There was the rough drag of Crowley’s scales between his thighs as he shifted, as he only moved closer. The heat that radiated off Crowley, then, was near sweltering. But Aziraphale didn’t falter. He didn’t shy away from the first, tentative kiss.

It felt like a true first kiss. An awkward smash of lips, tightly closed, where Aziraphale could do nothing but squeeze his eyes shut. He let Crowley kiss him. He let Crowley kiss him until he was moving his lips in return, kissing back, pressing against Crowley’s with an amateur’s fervor. He even rolled his hips, a minute too soon, and Crowley pulled back all at once. He offered Aziraphale only a longing glance and a drag of his claws through Aziraphale’s hair.

“We can’t,” Crowley muttered. He slid off the bed entirely.

“Crowley—”

“No,” Crowley said with a firm cruelty in his voice. “I will not put this on you.”

“I’m _asking,_ Crowley, please! This isn’t just about duty. I—I _want_ you. Your touch makes me feel so alive, and I want more. I want everything you’ll give me. Please, Crowley.”

Crowley looked at Aziraphale, who had crawled to the edge of the bed to reach for him. But Crowley came no closer. He just folded his arms over his chest and shook his head. All at once, he appeared defensive and standoffish. Just the thought of touching Aziraphale, of laying with him, was sending warning signs up. It didn’t matter how badly he wanted to bury himself between Aziraphale’s thighs—the consequence would be disastrous.

“If you won’t leave, then I will,” Crowley said. Where he looked powerful in the moment, confident in his decision, his voice betrayed his fragility.

Eventually, Aziraphale chose to leave. His knees were a bit weak, but he would not falter until he returned to his own space. There, he fell into the cushions of his sofa and willed for a glass of wine. It appeared, as it always would, but it tasted of sour ferment. Aziraphale hadn’t so much taken a sip before he was setting it away from himself, on the table, and curling into the back of the sofa. He laid like that for no longer than an hour before he turned to face the open air, and like that, he laid for another hour.

Truly, he had never been taught the purpose of a Sacrifice, just that it was for the good of the village. The Sacrifice would be taken by the Snake God, into the Snake God’s lair—which was apparently a rather plush garden by the name of Eden—and the rest of the teachings had fallen flat. Sandalphon had wanted Aziraphale to believe he would be raped and tortured. Aziraphale wanted to believe that he would be _loved_. Neither were true, at the moment. He and Crowley were as far apart as they could get, and Aziraphale only knew one thing. That he had to do something.

Prudence would have been finding a book on the Snake God himself, or perhaps a book that detailed religious doctrine and rituals. A book on Sacrifices, something straight from a temple, might have even provided the insight that Aziraphale needed to understand. For the insight, he looked to none of those potential sources. Aziraphale didn’t _care_ about the truth behind this anymore, because that wasn’t what mattered to him. What mattered to him was Crowley. Getting as close as he could to Crowley. Making Crowley smile, even. Duty, in the original sense, didn’t mean a thing in the world, anymore. Aziraphale didn’t care for the reason that he was here. He wouldn’t, not anymore. He just cared for what his new idea of duty would be—if Crowley wanted a _bride, _Aziraphale would be just that.

Erotica was not something Aziraphale had ever seen, or read, but he had heard of it. There had been several times when he’d been witness to chasing prostitutes off the temple steps, and that had been the first experience he’d ever had with the whole idea. There had been a whole separate experience when Sandalphon had first started insisting that he strip, to _prove_ that he would remain a worthy Sacrifice, but those were the experiences that Aziraphale chose not to think about. Not when on the other side of his mind was Crowley. He wouldn’t mash them together. Not like he had been—it wasn’t fair to Crowley. It had _hurt_ Crowley.

Aziraphale didn’t even read the books he found in his shelves. He flipped through them until he found the sections particularly dedicated to the erotic part of their given genre. The first book had several sections for Aziraphale to stop and read, thoroughly, but he found quickly that the book had skipped straight to the act—which had left Aziraphale with a bit of a red face. He knew the basics, the theory behind how it worked. But the practice was something entirely different. It left him feeling strange and warm. That book went onto the floor, and Aziraphale picked up another one.

The second book was subtle, invisible. Seduction was minimal—the heroine had somehow just fallen into bed with the hero without it. The act itself had been vague and unfulfilled. Aziraphale found himself quite cold again. Where the first one had overdone everything to the point of exaggeration, this second book left too much to the imagination. Aziraphale needed more help than that—he didn’t have much to imagine about. All his life, he’d been locked inside of a temple. There had never been a moment where he needed to _seduce._ A book with more proper details should help him along; he just had to find the book. The second book went back into the pile, and Aziraphale found another.

Four more books and the whole day Aziraphale went through before he finally settled on a novel of particular interest. Some of the things Aziraphale read were things that he had already done—namely, when the heroine of the story disrobed entirely in front of her would-be-lover. She dropped her clothing to bare herself to him, and he had been helpless but to reach out to her. The thought made Aziraphale’s nose crinkle up. Crowley had certainly not done that, but Aziraphale could _imagine_ if he had. In the same scene of the book, only the settling was the lake. In Aziraphale’s mind, when he dropped his robe to join Crowley in the water, he’d never had a chance to do so. Crowley had surged up from the water and put his claws around Aziraphale’s hips, taken him in close.

Something stirred in Aziraphale’s pelvis, and he shifted when it grew too uncomfortable. There was an insatiable heat he didn’t recognize, but it made him want to keep reading. The man had reached out for the heroine and cupped her breasts, held her close to kiss her. In return, she made quick work of his clothing—Crowley didn’t _wear_ clothing. There was no reason for him too, but Aziraphale might find other ways like this. He could reach up and tangle his hands in Crowley’s hair, let it down out of its ties and knots like he kept it. Aziraphale would run his hands over Crowley’s chest and feel the hard press of his skin, the raw power beneath it. And he would trail his hands farther down, over Crowley’s scales.

The Sacrifice’s duty was to spread himself out for his new god master and take whatever he was given. Aziraphale could only imagine that Crowley had a cock from which to give, somewhere down in those scales. If Aziraphale worked hard enough with his hands, maybe even dared to put his mouth on Crowley, Crowley wouldn’t disappoint him. Aziraphale shifted again on the sofa as he imagined it: the weight and size of Crowley’s cock. Crowley was large. His cock should be too, Aziraphale thought. He even spread his thighs out when the heat built up again.

In the novel, the hero laid out his heroine on the grass and spread her thighs. Aziraphale thought he might like that: to be taken on the grass. Eden was Crowley’s home, and maybe _he_ would like that too. To see Aziraphale spread out and made just as big a part of this place as Crowley had been. Crowley would lay Aziraphale out in the sunlight and spread his thighs, slither between them, and the way his scales would ripple against Aziraphale’s flesh would be nearly enough to topple Aziraphale down. Just the thought of Crowley moving his tail like that had Aziraphale shifting once more.

He couldn’t ignore it any longer, the weight of his prick between his thighs. It was just the same as in the novel, for the hero—though Aziraphale suspected he would be more than overwhelmed and happy to be the heroine in this novel. It sounded simpler, more pleasurable. The idea of Crowley laying him out and pressing down against him with his claws had Aziraphale’s cock twitching with interest, leaking out into the fabric. It was the moment when the hero pressed his own cock inside the heroine that Aziraphale had to set the book aside. He knew enough about that part. The sex. The penetration. He wanted to know how it felt outside of his mind.

Crowley would be above him, that much he knew. With his big yellow eyes staring down at Aziraphale with absolute marvel. He would run the palms of his clawed hands down Aziraphale’s chest and follow with his tongue. This, Aziraphale allowed himself to mimic with his hands. He brushed the palms of them over his own nipples and gasped at the sudden sensation. There was no pain when he tugged on the rings, just an unending burn and desire for more, for something _rough_. His hands were so smooth. There was no way he could close his eyes and mistake them for Crowley’s.

Then there was the thought of _untouched_. The Sacrifice was to be a virgin, and Aziraphale was. There would be no one he’d even thought to sleep with, given the chance. He’d only ever known the Priests, and he had considered Gabriel something of a brother. The idea of _sleeping_ with him would kill whatever fire in burned in Aziraphale’s stomach, so he did not think of that. The fear though that touching himself, here, might somehow ruin what prospect he was to Crowley kept his hands from venturing lower than his waist.

Crowley would be the one to touch him there. Crowley’s touch would erase all the horrid ways that Sandalphon had gripped at him and cupped his cock under the guise if _inspection_. Aziraphale wouldn’t be able to erase that himself, and even just thinking about it had his mind wandering. What a bad, bad thing to do. He would keep his mind on Crowley, and in the morning, he would return straight to Crowley’s abode in attempts to reconcile this. But first, he needed a better plan than just seducing. If Crowley were to believe him, Aziraphale needed to act on it. This was not a matter of duty to lay with the Snake God; this was a matter of want to _wed_ him.

Aziraphale endeavored only to make himself available. He’d done just as he planned in the morning, marching straight back to Crowley’s dwellings and apologizing for his behavior. He bowed low until Crowley had pulled him to stand upright again and smiled at him. From there, Aziraphale offered assistance where he could. He dusted, he cleaned, and he made Crowley’s bed. He straightened the furniture up in the main area, and then he took a privileged seat in one of the chairs to watch as Crowley doted over a plant in the corner.

It wasn’t so much a kind dote as it was Crowley shouting at it, but Aziraphale watched as the plant _visibly_ turned a more vibrant green at the sound of Crowley’s shout. It made for an interesting moment. A moment Aziraphale relived for the following three days. He dusted, he cleaned, and he made Crowley’s bed. He took up his seat in the main area and watched Crowley care for the plants. This day was different, though, because after Crowley had finished with the final plant, he slithered on over to the seating area and draped himself over the large lounge chair.

When he didn’t immediately send Aziraphale away, Aziraphale knew he was getting closer to success. He sat in his chair prettily, with his back slightly arched so his chest would stick out. It hadn’t taken any sort of mind to tell where Crowley’s eyes were drawn the most. The nipple rings were golden and shiny; they would draw an eye even if Crowley wasn’t looking specifically beyond them and just over the expanse of Aziraphale’s chest. If that was the feature Crowley liked the best, it would be what Aziraphale attempted to flaunt.

It went entirely unnoticed, as Crowley had closed his eyes almost immediately upon lying down. A moment later, he opened them, and hadn’t noticed a thing different in Aziraphale’s posture. He did look at him, squarely in the eyes with a great effort not to wander anywhere else. Aziraphale could see that effort, and it certainly made him feel a bit proud.

“Do you know any instruments?” Crowley asked.

“No,” Aziraphale replied. “They would never allow me to learn anything outside of religious doctrine. I’m sorry—”

“Don’t apologize.” Crowley waved his hand in the air. “I can play many instruments, and I thought it might be nice to have some company. If you’d like to learn, that is. I might not have much patience for teaching, but I can try.”

“Oh, Crowley, no. You don’t have to do something like that for me.”

Crowley shrugged, and a moment later, he was holding a lute in his arms. A smaller, more human sized one appeared on the lounge chair just beside Crowley’s tail, and Crowley looked at him expectantly. It was nothing short of an invitation, one that Aziraphale wasn’t about to pass up. He stood and made his way across the space, then sat down pointedly on the lounger with Crowley. Crowley had been laying on his back, for the lute, and Aziraphale made sure to position himself just right that any movement Crowley made would have his tail brushing into Aziraphale’s backside. It would work.

Only, nothing was working. Aziraphale couldn’t figure out how to follow Crowley’s instructions for the life of him, and Crowley was doing his best to remain calm about the situation. Aziraphale would have applauded Crowley’s effort, really, if he hadn’t been so frustrated with himself. Musical talent was not among the few things that Aziraphale possessed, and even if Crowley could will him an ear for tune, it wouldn’t feel the same. Crowley had wanted to share something important with him, and Aziraphale had turned quite quickly into an utter failure.

There would be a way to salvage this, though. Aziraphale just had to be quick on his feet. He had always been a fast learner, rather clever. Music just wasn’t his talent. He had other talents, though. Ones that were not particularly involved with seduction or a lute, but he could listen. Aziraphale set aside his lute, and before Crowley could make any sort of snide and inappropriate comment about giving up, Aziraphale smiled at him.

“Could I, perhaps, listen to one of your tunes?” Aziraphale asked.

“Oh,” Crowley said quite dumbly, like he’d rather expected Aziraphale to throw in the towel and quit this entirely. “Sure, yeah. Uh,” Crowley straightened up. “I can whip something up for you, if you like.”

“I would very much like to hear something. I’m sorry I’m not very skilled, but maybe if—”

“It’s fine,” Crowley even _laughed_. “It’s not for everyone. If you’d prefer to listen, then we should do that. Relax, hm?”

Crowley snapped his fingers and a tray appeared beside the lounger, of wine, cheese, crackers, and grapes. The wine was sweet and wonderful, just as Aziraphale had remembered it always tasting. It wasn’t the sour, fermented cup he’d had before—and it gladdened him. Things were fixing, fixed, even. Crowley looked at him with wide eyes and a smile, then picked up the lute to rest it just so against his body. The melody that strung from the strings was the softest thing Aziraphale had ever heard. A gentle flow, a rhythm that set deep in the back of his skull and made things heavy.

Music wasn’t played at the temple, save for festivals. Even then, it was loud, with a beat that would shake the stones. The villagers would dance in a circle and enjoy themselves, while Aziraphale had always stood off to the side without an allowance to join them. Crowley’s music was different. Crowley’s song was slow, light. A pretty little tune that tickled the inside of Aziraphale’s ears. It was beautiful. Nothing short of beautiful. And long. Slow. Like they could dance to it slow and against each other. That word was just on the tip of Aziraphale’s tongue. A love song, perhaps.

It hadn’t taken more than five minutes for the song to still, for Crowley to go rigid. There was a sudden weight on his hips, just over the bump of his tail and it had him opening his eyes and setting the lute aside. Aziraphale was _asleep_. Not just asleep but had fallen back with his head in Crowley’s lap. Or, what bit of a lap Crowley had. Aziraphale’s head was nestled right in the bend where Crowley’s skin turned to scale, and all Crowley could do was stare at him. If he moved, he risked waking Aziraphale. Something told him that would be a rather rude feat, so he stayed as still as he could.

Once he’d settled back down into the pillows on the lounge chair, he picked up the lute again and played something soft. For himself, this time, and for the slight shift Aziraphale made each time he might have found a part particularly lovely. In the silence, in the sudden loneliness, Crowley could keep his smile to himself. For a time, anyway. Between the music and his own thoughts, he almost missed what sound broke out among the shifting. The weight in his lap hadn’t bothered him until that moment. Until he heard something like a _moan_ escape Aziraphale’s lips.

Crowley jolted, the lute back on the floor, and he sat up. Aziraphale’s eyes were still closed. Behind his eyelids, Crowley could see the frantic movement of a dream. A dream that had him moaning quietly, prettily, and Crowley even dared to venture a glance downward. He shouldn’t have. He knew he shouldn’t have, but he _had_, and he’s seen the outline of Aziraphale’s cock hardening beneath his clothes. Every _second_ was testing Crowley’s patience further and further. The urge to reach out and put his hands on Aziraphale was great enough that he _did. _

The weight of his claw against Aziraphale’s chest should have woken him, but it didn’t. Aziraphale continued to breathe under it, well enough, and shifted so that he even faced Crowley. Aziraphale moaned again, and Crowley bit into the bottom of his lip. He should wake Aziraphale up and end this immediately, but his curiosity was getting the better of him. He wanted to know what Aziraphale was dreaming about—was it him? Had Aziraphale fallen asleep to the sound of his lute, only to dream about the way Crowley would touch him? Crowley felt a bit bold to assume that, but Aziraphale’s eyelids fluttered so prettily when he brushed his claws over the bare skin of his arm.

Aziraphale was fully erect, his prick straining against the confines of the fabric around his hips. Whatever he dreamed about; it must have been particularly stimulating. Crowley was almost. Well. Crowley was _jealous_. That a dream would make Aziraphale like this—it wasn’t right. He belonged to Crowley; only Crowley should be able to make him feel so good. Crowley had been the one to shut it down, each time. A folly all his own had led them here, and he was about to rectify that to the best of his ability. He couldn’t keep his hands off Aziraphale any longer.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said. He said, louder, once more, with a shake of his palm—and Aziraphale jolted awake.

“M-My lord! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean—” Aziraphale stopped short when he saw the look in Crowley’s eyes. His pupils were blown to near ovals, and he was so close. His hand was still against Aziraphale’s chest, even if Aziraphale had sat up.

“That’s not what you’re to call me,” Crowley said, his voice a dark and deep sort of rumble that came straight from his gut.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale replied, shuddering. “You—you said that we shouldn’t.” Playing coy was his last hope.

“I make the rules around here.” Crowley was suddenly pulling the end of his tail back to coil around Aziraphale, tight enough that he could lift Aziraphale right off the chair. It should have been a softer thing, Crowley knew, but if he let himself do that, he would fall for sure. Instead, he all but dropped Aziraphale over his hips, to straddle his tail and brace himself over the skin of his stomach.

“I want to see you,” Crowley said.

“I—Yes, Crowley,” Aziraphale wouldn’t argue. He slipped the soft blue fabric away from his body, away from his hips. The belt clattered to the floor, and the fabric slid away from him like it had never been there at all.

Like this, with his thighs spread purposefully over the thick of Crowley’s tail, Aziraphale couldn’t hide anything. His little cock was thick and erect against the underside of his belly, and his nipples were suddenly hard from the air. Crowley would have reached out to press his lips against them, but he didn’t. He laid back into the lounger and rested his claws over his middle. There was still something he could do without touching Aziraphale. His whims would still be satisfied, Aziraphale’s too, and his self-made promise would not be broken.

“Have you ever touched yourself?” Crowley asked.

“N-No.” Aziraphale shook his head. “I’ve thought about it, but I’ve never—I didn’t want to anger you.”

“Anger me?” Crowley snorted. “I want to see it. I want to watch you.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale breathed. He shuddered. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I’ll guide you. Just do I as command, and we’ll see you come undone. I want to know about that pretty dream you were having, angel.”

It was under Crowley’s guidance that Aziraphale wrapped his hand around the base of his cock and gasped. He’d never touched himself before, ever. Sandalphon had—Sandalphon had done all sorts of invasive things that hadn’t felt nearly as pleasant, as _warm_ as Aziraphale’s hand around himself. The first stroke was like lighting a fire, and Aziraphale fell into it quickly. Rubbing himself from base to tip, squeezing his thumb and forefinger together every time Crowley told him. Soon, Aziraphale’s hips were moving on his own, grinding into Crowley’s scales and fucking into his own hand.

Aziraphale’s head was thrown back, mouth open as moans escaped him. He had no rhythm, no finesse, but he felt good for it, nonetheless. Crowley’s eyes were on him. Even if Crowley’s hands were not, those _eyes_ were boring into his soul without seeing a thing, just watching. Crowley really had wanted to watch this. Crowley was _enjoying_ it, and it was only for a bit of magic that his cocks hadn’t suddenly made themselves known. He wasn’t ready for Aziraphale to see that—afraid he might frighten him away. This was much easier, much more fulfilling. Aziraphale, working his cock into his hand like it was the only thing he knew how to do.

“Touch your chest,” Crowley said. “Your nipples are so sensitive. Red little things, they are. Fat, like the rest of you.”

Aziraphale’s hand faltered there, and he was suddenly looking at Crowley with wide eyes. He hadn’t even had to say a thing before Crowley surged up. Still, he didn’t touch, but he lingered closely so their noses nearly did.

“You’re beautiful. The size of you is _perfect_—if I had wanted some skinny little twig, I would have picked a Sacrifice ages ago. But you—” Crowley took in a sudden, deep breath right at Aziraphale’s neck. “You are perfect.”

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale gasped.

“Keep moving. You’re close, I can tell.”

Aziraphale nodded quickly. Crowley laid back just as Aziraphale’s free hand came up to palm over his left nipple. He gasped, and his hips moved again. Every pass of his hand had precum leaking from his tip, and the mess dropped onto Crowley’s stomach. Crowley wasn’t mad or disgusted, not really. He wanted Aziraphale to finish on him, to come so undone by rutting off against his scales that he had no choice but to make a mess of them both. Crowley even _groaned_, audibly; Aziraphale looked at him, face flush red and lips parted.

“Your dream, Aziraphale. I want to hear about it.” Crowley grinned at him.

Aziraphale shook his head and whimpered. He squeezed his fingers a little tighter over the head of his cock and gasped. He was working himself furiously now, desperate to come. He dropped his hand away from his chest to brace himself on Crowley’s body, and all he could do was stare forward. Not once did he start the dream story—there wasn’t time. A moment later, Aziraphale was coming in thick streams over Crowley’s midsection, and the red on his face deepened with the moan from his throat.

“Oh—Crowley, I’m so sorry—” Aziraphale looked like he might try to fretfully clean up after the mess, and that was the first time Crowley let himself touch. He took hold of Aziraphale’s wrists and sat up.

“You’ve done _just_ as I wanted. Except for one thing, angel. What haven’t you done?”

“I didn’t—I haven’t told you of my dream,” Aziraphale’s voice was small.

“I want to know. Don’t I deserve to know? Look what you’ve done because of it. You’ve made a mess of your god.”

Aziraphale couldn’t form the words in his throat, for that. He just gaped at Crowley and looked down between him. He _had_ made a mess. A thick, white mess over Crowley’s stomach, and Aziraphale desperately wanted to hide his face in shame. His first orgasm—ever—and he’d gone and done this. Crowley seemed stupidly pleased about the whole thing, and even his voice sounded threatening, commanding, he was smiling something so soft. Aziraphale couldn’t help but open his mouth.

“I was dreaming of you, Crowley. The way that you might, well.” Aziraphale took in a deep breath. “This is so foolish of me. I can’t believe I’ve—You said that we shouldn’t, and I should respect that! But, oh, Crowley, I’ve dreamed about you. The way you would touch me, how you might move _inside_ of me. I’ve been dreaming about it for days, and I can’t stand it anymore.”

Aziraphale stole back his wrists to wrap his arms around Crowley’s neck and press their chests together. He would have kissed Crowley if not for this fear of doing anything too forward, too fast. Instead, he just kept talking.

“I’ve imagined what your cock might look like. What it might _feel_ like. How you might press inside me. I want you to touch me, Crowley. I want to lay with you, to _please_ you. Anything you want, whatever you want—I,” Aziraphale’s breath hitched, but he didn’t stop. “I want to kiss you, to be atop you, like this. I want to lie in your bed. I want to wake up with you. I want to help you with the plants. I want to listen to you play—”

Crowley pressed a clawed finger over Aziraphale’s lips and gave him such an unmentionable look. Crowley wanted to believe every word out of Aziraphale’s mouth, but there was always a _chance_ that something would go wrong. These desires didn’t die with Aziraphale; they were the same things Crowley wanted with every fiber of his being. They didn’t sound like the desires of a Sacrifice trying to do his duty. They sounded like Aziraphale, wanting. Desperate.

“You have no idea how much I want those things, Aziraphale. But we can’t. We can’t _do_ anything—”

“Why!?” Aziraphale shrieked. He suddenly lurched forward and pressed an open mouth, slobbering kiss into Crowley’s lips. It tumbled them both down to the lounger, and even with the sticky mess between them, neither tried to end the kiss. It ended on its own, because Crowley would need to answer that question. He was ready to answer that question.

Crowley snapped his finger and cleaned them both, returned Aziraphale’s clothes to him, and deposited him on the bed. Crowley was there an instant later, his tail coiled all around about the floor while he propped himself up on the bed. Still, a healthy distance between them and something heavy in the air when Crowley looked at Aziraphale. When Crowley came closer, Aziraphale didn’t shy away. He stayed right where he was, kneeling at attention, and locked eyes.

“Let me tell you the duty of a Sacrifice,” Crowley said. “When you know what it is that must happen, I’ll do whatever you want.”

Aziraphale gulped and nodded.

“You are given to me for one purpose,” Crowley started. He draped his clawed hand over Aziraphale’s stomach but did not tear away his eyes. He looked directly at Aziraphale as he spoke. “You will carry my child.”

“Crowley—”

“It’s not that simple,” Crowley hushed him. “You _have_ to carry my child. Precautions won’t work. If you lay with me, you will be pregnant. You might wonder why, and that’s the first part. I have to—change you. I have to change your body. You have to be prepared for a child, and I can make that happen. It’s why your sex doesn’t matter.

“And when you’re pregnant,” Crowley pulled back, “I don’t know exactly what happens then. I’d take care of you, of course. But at the end,” and this part had Crowley near shuddering with the loathe he felt to say it. “Our child will be able to live among the people of the village and bring them power, riches, and _life_. They’ll prosper.”

“Whatever is the issue, then?” Aziraphale scooted closer. “That sounds—that sounds lovely, I—”

“You’ll die,” Crowley said. It was the first time his eyes drifted away. “Mortals don’t survive the birth of a god’s child. I can do everything in my power to save you, but you’ll die.”

Aziraphale shifted forward until he could straddle Crowley’s waist again, taking Crowley’s face between his hands and leaning in close. “We’ll have all the time until then, won’t we?”

“Reasonably,” Crowley’s voice broke.

Aziraphale’s eyes dipped closed as he pressed forward with a gentle kiss. Crowley couldn’t keep his claws to himself—he laid one against Aziraphale’s hip and held him there, to kiss. To kiss until Aziraphale pulled back, running his hands back through Crowley’s hair and tugging out the knots and ties he kept it in.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered, “please, let me have your baby.”

Crowley surged up and planted Aziraphale’s back straight into the sheets. Just as he’d promised—he would do whatever Aziraphale wanted, once he knew the truth. If Aziraphale wanted a baby, then Crowley would give him one.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit of a shorter chapter, sorry. It's got the smut you've all been waiting for, though!! I'm just sick and in my stupidity i'm writing instead of resting. I don't know how to rest. resting is boring >:|

They met in a hard, desperate kiss. Crowley kept his claws firmly planted on the sheets, and Aziraphale melted underneath him. He spread out his thighs, wrapped his arms around Crowley’s neck, and they _kissed_. There was tongue and spit and a knock of teeth, but they fell into a smooth rhythm. Crowley’s tail fell ever nicely between Aziraphale’s thighs, and the ripple of his scales was everything Aziraphale dreamed about, remembered, and _wanted_. He groaned into their kiss, threading his hands down between them to work away the fabric of his clothes. He needed to be bare against Crowley—even if the fabric left little to the imagination, Aziraphale needed it gone.

Once Aziraphale was bare, Crowley dropped against him until there wasn’t a breath of air between them. His body moved in the same rolls that his scales did, pressing into Aziraphale’s chest as he kissed him. Moved against him—kept his hands exactly where they had been, planted on the bed. Every drag of Crowley’s body pulled on Aziraphale’s nipple rings. Crowley was doing it on purpose, he had to be, but he still hadn’t _touched _Aziraphale. Not really. Aziraphale squirmed underneath him. He wanted those hands on him, those _claws_. They made him feel helpless, powerless. Aziraphale craved that.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale gasped. He ran his hands down far enough to Crowley’s neck, the junction of it and his collarbone, to hold onto. To push him back. “Touch me, Crowley—_touch_ me.”

“Aren’t I?” Crowley leaned back down into him, and Aziraphale gasped when Crowley’s tongue poked out. Aziraphale had never seen it so close, only felt it in the nerves of his mouth. But when he watched Crowley drag that long, forked thing over his jaw—Aziraphale shuddered.

“Your _hands_—”

“They aren’t hands, angel,” Crowley said. He raised one up and rested it over Aziraphale’s chest, so he could feel the mass of it, the weight of it. Crowley could pin him down with just one, and Aziraphale would be helpless. “I could _hurt_ you,” Crowley’s voice dropped as his lips brushed over Aziraphale’s jaw. Down to his neck, where he took Aziraphale’s flesh between his teeth to let him feel the sharp of them. Aziraphale trembled, beautifully.

“I want anything you’ll give me,” Aziraphale gasped.

Crowley didn’t deign answer that. Hurting Aziraphale was out of the question, but he would kiss him. He did. He pressed his lips over Aziraphale’s neck, sucking and biting wherever he could reach. He moved his claw back down to the bed, away from Aziraphale, and trailed his lips down further. When Crowley’s lips wrapped around Aziraphale’s nipple, Aziraphale all but shouted. His back arched up into Crowley’s chest, to press against him. Crowley’s tongue—Crowley could do _amazing_ things with his tongue, and he proved it there when he wrapped it around Aziraphale’s nipple, the ring, and he sucked. He tugged on the wring, laved around it with the forked end of his tongue, and Aziraphale’s eyes screwed shut from the feeling of it.

He gasped and threaded his hands through Crowley’s hair, trying impossibly to bring him closer. He rolled his hips, rolled his chest, anything that he could do to feel _more_. Crowley had set something off, and there was a trickle of it down Aziraphale’s spine the more Crowley sucked over him. Aziraphale had never _known_ he was this sensitive, that something like this could feel so good. It was like his body worked on its own, trying to find its own pleasure in Crowley’s mouth. Even when Crowley’s fangs pressed into his skin, Aziraphale only wanted more. He wanted to be covered in bite marks, in purple bruises—and Crowley seemed to be ensuring he would.

A path bloomed up on Aziraphale’s chest, following Crowley’s mouth. Every bite, every nip, every suck left something in its wake. Crowley worked with a purpose, his hips rolling down into Aziraphale’s to press into his cock. Aziraphale had only come a bit ago, but he was hard again, already leaking against Crowley’s scales. He reacted so prettily to every move Crowley made. When Crowley wrapped around Aziraphale’s other nipple, he gasped out—moaned; Crowley’s name was on his lips in a litany of pleas and cries.

Aziraphale’s nipples were pink, wet, and erect when Crowley left them. In such a stunning contrast to the gold of his piercings, and Crowley found he would be a fool to leave them alone. He wound his tongue through one, just one, and tugged on it until Aziraphale was crying out again. Then, Crowley was trailing down and leaving a burning fire in his wake. Every touch was the best thing Aziraphale had ever felt, and then Crowley’s tongue was wrapping around his cock, and he shouted.

“C-Crowley! What are you—?”

A glance from Crowley shut Aziraphale’s lips tight as he watched. Crowley sunk down over the head of his cock with a practiced ease, and his tongue worked all on its own. Stroking Aziraphale in time as Crowley sucked over his cockhead. Aziraphale gasped out and bucked his hips, trying to find his way deeper into Crowley’s mouth, where he could have more of that _feeling_. That burning fire of pleasure—_nobody_ had ever done this to him before. Aziraphale had never even dreamed of this feeling, and he never wanted it to end. He cried out, unable to do anything but lay there with his hands screwed in the sheets beneath him and feel.

Crowley’s tongue worked him from tip to base, over and over in a steady rhythm, milking him for everything he was. Aziraphale gasped when he finally came, and Crowley _swallowed_ around him. Crowley didn’t pull back at all until he had stroked Aziraphale back to full hardness. Then, Crowley smoothed his claw down Aziraphale’s body just to feel him, the weight of him. Aziraphale shuddered under the weight of it, the slight scratch of his nails. He came down to rest his clawed hand over Aziraphale’s pelvis, then looked at Aziraphale.

“I want to you have you,” Crowley said, slouching down over him. “I want to have you without strings, just once.”

Aziraphale nodded hurriedly, and when Crowley turned him onto his front, he rolled willingly. He buried his face into the pillows at the head of the bed when Crowley spread his cheeks apart. He was gentle, using only his thumbs, and he wasted no time before pressing his tongue there, licking a clean stripe over Aziraphale’s hole and reveling int he way he twitched, cried out from the feeling. It was only a second longer before Crowley’s tongue was worming its way inside him, and Aziraphale’s entire body caught in a tremor.

Crowley’s tongue was fluid inside of him, stroking up and down his walls, digging deeper until he brushed over something that had Aziraphale crying out and spurting with his newfound pleasure. Crowley’s tongue seemed to get thicker, the longer it went. Aziraphale could feel himself stretch open around Crowley, to accommodate him—to bring him closer. He could feel Crowley’s lips move around his hole, the press of his nose, his chin. Crowley was so close, his tongue pressed in so deep. The base of it was thick against Aziraphale’s hole. The pressure was overwhelming, and Aziraphale cried out again. Shivered, shook. He pushed his hips back into Crowley’s mouth and gripped into the pillows.

Every pass of Crowley’s tongue was a new sensation he’d never felt, and Crowley was quite literally _fucking_ him with his tongue. Dragging it in and out, a quick set pace. All with his tongue. His claws had never moved from Aziraphale’s hips and had never held down too hard. Aziraphale was free to fuck himself back on Crowley’s tongue, and he made good use of it. Until he was dripping with Crowley’s saliva, fucked wide open. When Crowley pulled back, Aziraphale felt the strength leave his hips, but Crowley held him in place.

“Do you still want to continue?” Crowley asked, running one of his claws down Aziraphale’s back.

Aziraphale nodded, a whimper in the back of his throat. That was when he felt something he wasn’t expecting. The thick head of Crowley’s cock against his hole—and the press of something else against his thigh as Crowley came closer. Aziraphale almost scrambled, and Crowley let go of him immediately.

“W-Wait,” Aziraphale gasped, rolling onto his back. Crowley knew exactly what he needed and pulled back enough that Aziraphale could see him.

“This is usually the part where you decide to back out,” Crowley said, but his voice was breathless. Aziraphale noticed the sweat on his brow, how his chest heaved. If not for other, more obvious evidence, Aziraphale would have still known how painfully aroused Crowley was. How badly he needed this, wanted this. But there was the other evidence, and Aziraphale let his eyes wander down. Just past the jut of Crowley’s hips, his last bit of skin, and just a little farther down—that part of Crowley had always looked a little out of place, but Aziraphale hadn’t thought about it much. Not until this exact moment, where the scales seemed to separate apart.

Crowley had _two _sizable cocks. He had his claw around one, stroking it with a practiced care as to not hurt himself. The other stood proud, hard, and dripping from the tip with a kind of messy slick that was entirely unlike a human’s. It looked sticky, viscous. Aziraphale could feel where some of it was still spattered between his cheeks, from Crowley’s first press. Aziraphale gulped, then looked back up at Crowley, whose face was going red with his own pleasure. Stroking himself, still, his eyes painfully wide and staring directly at Aziraphale.

“Don’t make me wait too long, please,” Crowley groaned. “If you don’t want to—”

“J-just one?” Aziraphale squeaked. Crowley gave a hasty nod.

“Never met a mortal that could take both,” came his breathless reply, a bit of a laugh at the end. It sounded a bit like a challenge, but one that Aziraphale wasn’t ready to take. Instead, he just spread his thighs and welcomed Crowley back down against him. Crowley all but collapsed down into a kiss, and Aziraphale couldn’t be bothered to be horrified at the taste of himself in Crowley’s mouth. He reveled in it, instead; Crowley had had his tongue around him, inside of him. He would never want to forget that. It was about to be Crowley’s _cock_.

Crowley hiked one of Aziraphale’s legs up, carefully, to rest in the divot of his hip. His cock was there a moment later, just the one, pressing into Aziraphale. The blunt of his cockhead speared Aziraphale right open, and Aziraphale’s head fell back in a silent gasp. He couldn’t find the air to shout, to cry out, but Crowley was sliding inside him all at once. Whatever that slick was over his prick eased the push, and Aziraphale was shuddering with the pleasure of it. His entire body had gone warm all of the sudden, in ways he wouldn’t have ever imagined.

When he felt Crowley’s scales pressed up against him, the whole world came to a screeching halt. Aziraphale trembled and came again, over himself. He could feel Crowley pulsing inside of him, more slick gathering, and it just made him feel warm. Hot. Like everything was spinning and stopped all at once—he didn’t understand the sudden urge to fuck himself down on Crowley’s cock. There was nowhere for him to move. Crowley was pressed flush against him, his scales ripping with every shift as he waited, patiently. Aziraphale was fully impaled on his cock, helpless, and Crowley leaned down over him to cover his lips in another kiss.

“Does it feel good?” Crowley asked, running his kisses down Aziraphale’s cheek, his jaw, to his neck where he licked a long stripe from the divot of his collarbone to his ear.

“Y-yes!” Aziraphale gasped. “O-oh, Crowley, I—I feel so warm—”

“Happens,” Crowley muttered. He started to rock his hips, and Aziraphale cried out. “You took me so well,” Crowley muttered, rocking again. “But it’s—it’s a thing that happens. Like an aphrodisiac. Makes it easier. Makes it _better_,” and Crowley groaned when he moved next to prove it.

If Aziraphale had any of his capacities left, he would have thought more about it. It made sense; Crowley wouldn’t dare put his claws anywhere near Aziraphale’s delicate bits, so to say, on the off chance he would hurt him. It left him with only his mouth, and that may not have been enough. But the slick he produced, the way it made Aziraphale burn with desire, how it leaked from his hole when Crowley pulled back, pushed forward—it would do the rest of the work. Aziraphale didn’t have the capacity to think, but he did to _moan_ with every slow press.

“M-More,” he gasped. “Oh, Crowley, please—”

“As you like,” Crowley muttered, and his hips started to move with purpose.

Aziraphale gripped his hand into the pillows and tried to keep his voice down, but he couldn’t help it. He cried out, gasped with every thrust Crowley made. Every move of his scales, every roll of his hips, it was all so much more than Aziraphale could have ever dreamed about. Crowley’s second cock was nestled up in the juncture of his pelvis and thigh, and even _that_ felt good. It made his skin burn with desire, to have Crowley entirely over him, wherever he could find his pleasure in Aziraphale. Crowley could drag his cock over Aziraphale’s entire body, and Aziraphale would let him.

Crowley gripped his claws into the bed as he leaned down, working his hips as fast as he could manage. His tail had draped down off the bed, coiled around the bedposts to keep himself steady as he fucked forward. He dipped his head down over Aziraphale’s chest and licked over his left nipple again. He wrapped his tongue through the nipple ring and tugged at it, until Aziraphale’s skin stretched and Crowley could suck over the extra flesh again. Aziraphale all but spasmed, rolling and arching his back to press farther into Crowley’s mouth. His hips worked down to meet Crowley’s, and his skin was entirely lit with pleasure. He couldn’t escape it, so he _chased_ it.

With his fingers back in Crowley’s hair, Aziraphale cried out. Crowley’s name on his lips, Crowley _inside _of him. Aziraphale gasped with every movement, and when Crowley finally let go enough to wrap the end of his tail around Aziraphale, Aziraphale nearly lost himself. He felt used, but in it, he felt _cared_ for. Crowley’s tail held him at his middle, so he didn’t have to strain himself arching his back. Crowley fucked into him now, with abandon. His free cock was dripping over Aziraphale’s skin, easing the drag of it in the junction of his thigh. Everything was everything all at once, and Aziraphale’s eyes screwed shut as he groaned.

Crowley switched nipples and treated the second with the same, delightful attention. He stretched the skin, tugged on the ring, and left marks over Aziraphale’s tit. Aziraphale was coming again—he’d lost count—but this time, when he finished, he clenched down over Crowley’s cock and felt the hot spurt in return. Crowley’s hips stuttered, he groaned, and buried his face into Aziraphale’s neck. Crowley’s tongue was hot where his breath would have been, if he breathed, if he panted out his exhaustion. Instead, he pressed into Aziraphale with each twitch of his hips until he’d finished. Then, he pulled back.

“Crowley—” Aziraphale gasped.

“Do you want more?” Crowley asked. “Do you want me to fuck you again?”

Aziraphale nodded quickly, gasping and spreading his thighs impossibly wider. Crowley’s first cock had deflated with his orgasm, but his second was still hard, still dripping with its need for release.

“How about this—” Crowley leaned down into Aziraphale’s ear, “—I give you a baby, now? Do you want that?”

“Yes, Crowley, yes!” Aziraphale rolled his hips up into him.

“I have to change you first,” Crowley laid his clawed hand over Aziraphale’s pelvis again, entirely masking it from view. “You can’t carry my baby like this.”

“Anything, Crowley, anything—”

“Listen to me,” Crowley said firmly. He leaned down to press their foreheads together. “Survive this, please,” Crowley whispered. “Raise this baby with me, okay? Don’t leave me.”

“I won’t,” Aziraphale said, running his fingers over Crowley’s scalp. “I’ll never leave you, Crowley. Do whatever you want with my body—I trust you.”

Crowley smiled and let his eyes close for a moment, just to bask in the feeling of Aziraphale so near. He knew they were fruitless promises. Aziraphale would die if he carried this baby to term, but he _wanted_ the baby all the same. He wanted Crowley to impregnate him.

Aziraphale’s body started to melt under Crowley’s hand, with the subtle push he gave. Melt and then bloom open into what Crowley desired, and the new feeling it left Aziraphale with was _strange_. It felt foreign, different, and when Crowley pulled away—Aziraphale trailed a hand down between his thighs to feel what had been done. Crowley had disappeared his cock all together, and in its place was a fat, plush cunt. His clit was thick to match, and Aziraphale trailed his fingers down through the folds and gasped.

He could feel his insides shift, too. Through it, Crowley kissed him, kissed his neck, laved his tongue over Aziraphale’s nipples again. Anything to keep him distracted while his body shifted. He would be able to accommodate a _god_ after this and take that god’s seed and form a baby. It was worth the discomfort that spread up. Crowley shifted closer between Aziraphale’s thighs and rolled his tail over Aziraphale’s new cunt—still, trying to distract him, keep him awake and roused from pleasure.

“Crowley—I want you,” Aziraphale gasped. “Please—”

“You’ll have me,” Crowley whispered. “Oh, angel, you’ll have me for eternity if you can just wait another minute. I promise, you’ll have me.’

Aziraphale nodded, groaning and shifting. When everything finally subsided, Aziraphale felt strange. He felt _new._ And Crowley rewarded him quickly by dropping down between his thighs to lick through the folds of his cunt. He guided Aziraphale to help, to rub his fingers over his engorged clit while Crowley lapped at him, his tongue somehow still thicker than it had been. Crowley’s tongue spread him completely, licked over his new hole and sent waves of pleasure up Aziraphale’s entire body. Aziraphale’s thighs started to shake, and it was _difficult_ to keep his hand over his clit. But he managed, rolling the thick bud between his fingers and shivering for it.

Then, Crowley’s tongue speared him right open—the feeling was foreign, but oh if Aziraphale didn’t cry out for it, shout when Crowley nosed right up between his folds and buried his face there, his tongue deep inside Aziraphale. Aziraphale could feel himself getting _wet_, and he didn’t understand it exactly. That didn’t seem to stop Crowley, who sucked the slick right out of him and made a mess of himself. The more Aziraphale dripped, the more Crowley licked, sucked over his hole, and buried his tongue as deep as he could get it. Aziraphale’s entire body just opened for him, begging for more. It was all Aziraphale could do not to come again, but he could feel that familiar pressure building up.

“You’re doing so good,” Crowley told him, pulling back. “When we’re done,” Crowley said, lining his cock with Aziraphale’s cunt, “I’ll teach you all about it. I’ll drag my tongue through you for _hours_ and teach you how to touch yourself. But first,” and his thick cockhead pierced through Aziraphale, who threw his head back with a sudden shout, “you’ll take this, won’t you? You’ll take my cock, and you’ll have my baby.”

“Yes, yes, yes!” Aziraphale cried out, rolling his hips down.

“You’ll look so good.” Crowley continued pressing forward. “You’ll be fat with it, my kid. You’ll be all mine,” a grunt, “my perfect, own fertility goddess.”

Aziraphale’s body shook around Crowley, and their hips pressed together a second later. The feeling against Crowley’s scales against the sensitive, new flesh of his cunt was something altogether different. He didn’t know how to feel, Aziraphale, and he wasn’t sure what to think. All he knew was that it felt _good_, that he wanted _more_. He wanted Crowley. He wanted Crowley as deep inside him as he could get, filling him as full as he could manage. He wanted, more than anything, for Crowley to fuck a baby into him.

“Aziraphale—” Crowley had all but pressed their bodies firmly together, his tail still rippling and thrusting forward. “It’s—it’s an egg, first, okay? It’ll—it’ll feel weird, but—” Crowley gasped.

Aziraphale just nodded and wrapped his arms around Crowley’s shoulder. Every jolt of Crowley’s body sent another wave of pleasure through Aziraphale—the press tugging on his nipple rings. Crowley just rolled their bodies together, very snake-like, until he pulled back to put his mouth over Aziraphale’s chest again.

Aziraphale could feel it, then, the sudden bulge. The sudden _stretch_ of his cunt to accommodate the intrusion. Aziraphale’s jaw fell open in a sudden gasp, but his body accepted it with a burn of pleasure all through Aziraphale’s hips, his back. He could _feel_ the thing move through him, get shoved deeply into what he could only imagine was a new womb, hand woven by his Snake God. Crowley looked dazed when he pulled back, saliva dripping from his lips from where he’d been so thoroughly concerned with Aziraphale’s chest.

“Alright?” he muttered out, almost like he was somewhere else.

When Aziraphale nodded, Crowley started to thrust again. It was a fast, frenzied thing, where they were both focused on reaching release and nothing more. Rolling against each other, Aziraphale cried out with very thrust. His entire body jolted with the force of Crowley’s movements, and then it all came tumbling over, quickly. Aziraphale shuddered and spasmed over Crowley’s cock, and he _gushed_ with his sudden burst of pleasure. Crowley came only a second later, gasping into Aziraphale’s neck.

There was a long moment where Crowley’s hips jerked further all on their own, and Crowley was grunting with some renewed effort. Aziraphale felt it a moment later, a sudden swelling just past the lips of his cunt. Crowley’s cock was _growing_, and Aziraphale gripped with his nails, this time, into the side of Crowley’s neck. Crowley didn’t so much as flinch at the pain, just worked his hips until the sudden swell came to a stop, locking Crowley’s hips flush against Aziraphale, between his thighs. On top of that, Aziraphale could _feel_ the egg inside of him, the rush of Crowley’s seed. He was fuller than he’d ever been, and still, somehow, he wished he could have more.

“Sorry,” Crowley muttered, happily content to not actually _be_ sorry, because he was nestled up against Aziraphale’s neck nearly vibrating with contentment. “It’s a knot,” he slurred together. “It’ll go down in a bit.”

Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley’s shoulder and pressed a kiss into his temple. They laid together like that for a long, heavy moment. The moment bled into an hour, and Crowley’s knot started to deflate. That, alone, took another few minutes, and then Crowley was pulling away from Aziraphale to brace himself on the bed. His hips rolled once, twice, three more times before he was finally pulling out. He pulled out slowly, carefully, and Aziraphale felt no less stuffed after he was gone. Something was keeping him open, and Crowley didn’t even seem to think twice about it. He flopped down to the bed besides Aziraphale and draped his tail over Aziraphale’s hips. A bit protectively, if Aziraphale were to name it.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered, rolling into him. Crowley hummed in response. “Are these—” he fingered over one of his nipple rings, “—something like wedding rings?”

Crowley, who had been quite on his way to sleep, was suddenly very, horridly awake. “What?”

“Well,” Aziraphale gulped, “I’ve never seen someone with them, before. And—Sandalphon insisted I have them before I was given to you. Even _you_ seemed quite enamored with them. I’m just not sure—”

“Aziraphale—angel—no,” Crowley pushed himself up on his elbow. “No, they’re just jewelry. Wedding rings are a _human_ thing, and they’re usually on your finger. Gods don’t—we don’t get married.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, and his disappoint was not hidden.

“And,” Crowley’s brow screwed into a frown, “Sandalphon made you get them? That nasty Head Priest?”

Aziraphale nodded. “I don’t—I would rather not talk about it,” he admitted.

“Can I know? Can I look?” Crowley looked down at Aziraphale expectantly. “I won’t look deeper; you have my word.”

There was a long moment where they just stared at each other, and Aziraphale blinked. Eventually, he nodded, and Crowley leaned close enough that their noses nearly touched. He stared directly into Aziraphale’s eyes and looked no deeper than what he sought. Where did the rings come from? He searched and dug and pulled until he found the memory; he watched through Aziraphale’s eyes as Sandalphon pierced each nipple. He felt the pain, heard the shrieking, the tears. Everything Aziraphale went through, right up to the point where Sandalphon dared to put his tongue on Aziraphale—then Crowley was surging back.

“I’ll rip him limb from limb, I’ll—”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered. “Crowley, please.”

Right. This wasn’t the time for shouting and screaming a god’s vengeful plights. Aziraphale had just been through the world, and he looked it. His eyes were drooping, his skin was a pleasant flush. Crowley settled back in beside him, tail wrapping in and around his legs to keep him close, and arm draping over his waist. Aziraphale moved as close as he could, his head in the crook of Crowley’s neck, and relaxed against him. This was better.

“Let me give you new ones,” Crowley whispered. “That memory was horrid, and I want to fix it.”

Aziraphale just nodded slowly.

When Aziraphale woke back up, some odd hours later, Crowley was still right there with him, curled entirely around him. Crowley was wide awake, watching him, but he hadn’t _left_. That, alone, made Aziraphale’s chest swell with a sudden warmth. He’d never expected Crowley to stay, even if they _were_ in Crowley’s bed. But this was just proof that Crowley hadn’t fucked him as a Sacrifice, no. That was too impersonal—Crowley cared about him. That was the only conclusion Aziraphale could come to, when their eyes met, and Crowley smiled. Crowley cared about him, truly and deeply.

There was still a strange feeling down between Aziraphale’s thighs, and the rest of him felt heavy. He ventured a hand down between them, a bit disappointed to find that Crowley’s cocks had retracted, but he found the warmth of his cunt. His lips were still spread, and his hole was stretched around something waxy, solid. Crowley was watching him expectantly, as if he was waiting for Aziraphale to say something, to ask about it. Maybe to even feel good about it. Aziraphale just pulled away and wrung his hands together at his chest.

“What…is that?” Aziraphale asked.

“Mating plug,” Crowley said, a bit happier than he had any right to be. He seemed giddy, even. Like a child. “You’ve got something else, too. Come, let me show you,” Crowley was slinking off the bed a second later. Aziraphale didn’t move, too exhausted, but that didn’t seem to be an issue. Crowley went off to the side to grab a looking glass off the wall. He brought it back to the bed and held it there for Aziraphale to look at himself.

Aziraphale was near shocked about what he saw. He was practically covered in bite marks and purple bruises; his nipples were red and sore, but what stood out more than anything was the stark black mark on his neck. It was a snake, no less, wound once around his neck so its head and tail came together, facing down. Aziraphale felt over it, only to find it was no different than his skin. Like it was just a part of his skin. Like a mark. And it had quite literally appeared while he slept.

“What is _this_?” Aziraphale asked, looking up to Crowley. Crowley set the mirror aside and slithered his way back up on the bed, leaning over Aziraphale and kissing him.

“Don’t you like it? It’s my mark. It means you’re _mine_.”

Aziraphale nodded weakly. “I do like it. I love it—” and he stopped himself there, looking at Crowley. He loved Crowley. He realized that, right there, when Crowley smiling over him with a childlike joy. Crowley was looking down at him like they were _mates_, and that had something strange spinning around in Aziraphale’s gut.

“The plug will disappear,” Crowley continued. “The mark won’t. You’ll belong with me for the rest of your life.”

Aziraphale felt _dazed_, knowing that. He belonged to Crowley, but more than that—he belonged _with_ Crowley. That meant Crowley belonged to him just the same. It felt like more than he would have ever been able to dream of; Sandalphon had lied to him so badly. This was the reality: Crowley’s tail wrapped around him, possessive and protective, with Crowley’s eyes on him, smiling just as wide as his lips did. They shared a kiss, then Crowley pulled away entirely.

Apparently, they wouldn’t actually know if Aziraphale was pregnant for a week or so. The plug would dislodge itself, and if the egg came with it, it hadn’t worked. Crowley was sure that it would, but until then, Aziraphale would be in bed. Unless he was perfectly happy to walk around with all of that going on between his legs, which he was not. The idea of Crowley taking care of him was far nicer a thought than going on about things normally. Crowley would bring him food, drink, books. Maybe he would even feed Aziraphale. But most importantly, maybe, Crowley was looking at him like the idea of Aziraphale being pregnant was the most arousing thing he could think of. And then, as his eyes always did, they landed on Aziraphale’s chest.

“You need new rings,” Crowley said. “Lie still.”

Aziraphale laid out flat on his back as Crowley crawled back onto the bed. The first thing that shocked Aziraphale was that Crowley had already _made_ rings, and the second thing was that Crowley, very carefully, was using his claws. He removed one of Aziraphale’s rings, the left one first, and disappeared the ring in his hand. Then, Crowley took one of the rings that _he__’d_ created, and threaded it back through the hole with a hesitant hand. He was steady, though, and the tug felt _strange_, but it didn’t hurt. Crowley repeated the process on Aziraphale’s right nipple. Then, Crowley couldn’t resist the temptation. He leaned down and ran his tongue over one of Aziraphale’s nipples and pulled back at the sudden gasp.

“That—oh, Crowley, don’t,” Aziraphale shuddered. “They’re sore.”

“I understand,” Crowley replied. “Do you like them? The new rings?”

Aziraphale looked over when Crowley picked the looking glass back up off the floor. The rings were different. Instead of dangling, gold things, they were a tightly woven silver in which a snake rested tightly against Aziraphale’s skin, circling each nipple. The bar that went through his nipple was visible, but Aziraphale didn’t even look at it. He was too busy looking at the snakes that Crowley had put on him. The mark around his neck. The plug still snuggly up in his cunt. Every inch of his body had been claimed. And Crowley could not have looked happier.

It was sometime later that day when Aziraphale decided to chance getting up. Crowley had gone off into the garden to bathe, and Aziraphale had just been cleaned with the snap of a finger. Crowley didn’t want him out of bed, but Aziraphale was bored. His ability to appear things at will didn’t extend outside his home, and it only applied to food and drink. If he wanted to gather some books, short of somehow getting Crowley to return, he would have to walk. That, and he was in desperate need of something new to wear.

After dressing back in the blue stripe of fabric, Aziraphale made the short walk back to his house. It was strange, the walk, but he tried not to dwell on it too greatly. The walk was short, and when he got back to his house, he would be able to sit down for a moment. He wasn’t particularly tired but walking around with all that stiff stuff between his thighs was something he didn’t ever think to experience. It wasn’t even quite the same as having a cock, which he surely realized he did not have anymore. Crowley could do anything with his body, though. That had been the point of promising he would survive carrying this child—Crowley could return his cock to him when they were done, if he so wanted. Aziraphale looked at himself in his own looking glass and rather thought he’d look nice with both, a cock and a cunt.

Aziraphale didn’t quite walk to his book area, then, either. He stopped at the wardrobe and glanced at it. This outfit felt a bit breezy, given all of his new flesh. And something _different_ might be in order. He rummaged around until he found just the perfect thing, and then stepped back to dress himself properly. He wore a red drape around his hips, like a loin cloth, but one that wrapped through his thighs and hugged him tightly. Then, the main piece was a golden colored dress—only it wasn’t quite a dress. Aziraphale draped it over himself. There were no sleeves, and the collar draped low around his collarbone so that the mark on his neck and some of the marks on his chest were still clearly visible. The entire back of the thing was open but draped down to just barely cover the swell of his ass, and the front stopped in a point to just barely cover his cunt. The rest spread out down like three quarters of a skirt, so his legs were free. His legs, then, were partially covered in tall wrap sandals.

Once he was dressed, he gathered up some books, and returned in his half waddle to Crowley’s abode, but not quite to his bed. Aziraphale set himself up on Crowley’s over-sized lounger, so he didn’t have to sit so strangely. Then, he popped open a book, and he read. He would read until Crowley returned, and from there, he would do anything Crowley wanted of him. Maybe they would just lay together, or Crowley would play him the lute. There was an endless amount of possibilities, but Aziraphale would be happy for any of them. Until then, he would read.

Crowley returned after something like an hour had passed, and he didn’t even bother to put things away. He disappeared them from his claws before slinking onto the lounger beside Aziraphale and curling his tail around Aziraphale’s legs again. He hovered over Aziraphale until Aziraphale decided it was a fine idea to pull his book away from his face, and only so that their eyes could meet. The rest of his face was hidden behind the book, and behind it, Aziraphale was smiling.

“You look _lovely_,” Crowley hissed. “That’s a dangerous thing to look, you know. Now that you’re _mine_.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale put the book to the side and smiled something sweet and virginal.

“I might feel inclined to take you again.” Crowley leaned down to press a heavy kiss into Aziraphale, and Aziraphale returned it with fervor.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale gasped, “have I done well?”

“Well? What do you mean?” The question seemed sudden, strange, and Crowley pulled back at the voice of it.

“You said you wanted a _bride_, and well—could I be your bride?”

“Oh,” Crowley breathed. “I did say that, didn’t I?” He leaned back down into Aziraphale to kiss him again. He found himself wishing that Aziraphale was naked again, but it was a fool’s thought that Aziraphale should be naked all the time.

“Did you mean it?”

Crowley nodded into Aziraphale’s neck. “I did. I meant it. I’ll make you my bride, Aziraphale.”

That sounded strangely like Crowley _loved_ him, and Aziraphale smiled, held Crowley tightly and closely. Where they might have read books together or played the lute, they just laid there. Crowley wrapped himself tightly around Aziraphale. Eventually, Aziraphale felt the press of Crowley’s cocks. Without holding himself back, it was easy to tell when he was aroused, how _badly_ he wanted Aziraphale. Even when Crowley told Aziraphale to ignore it, that they’d go away on their own eventually—Aziraphale found a way to wriggle himself around in Crowley’s hold until his back pressed into Crowley’s chest. His outfit made this easy—all Crowley had to do was lift it up, move Aziraphale’s undergarments aside, and his cock was sliding in between his cheeks.

It was _magic_ that opened Aziraphale up this time, but his body shuddered for it anyway. It felt like there were fingers inside of him, working his open, and Crowley’s cockhead followed shortly. They stayed like that, at first. In no rush to find release, just lying together. Eventually, Crowley braced himself on the bit of space in front of them and started to move his hips in earnest.

“One day,” he muttered, “I’ll fit both my cocks inside of you.”

Aziraphale shuddered and nodded hurriedly. They were free to do this, now. They could fuck and make love as often as they wanted, even if a baby did start to grow. There was no fear keeping them apart now, and if that meant that Aziraphale would find himself in Crowley’s lap, stuffed on both of his cocks—then that was what Aziraphale wanted. He wanted it _almost_ as much as he wanted to know if he was pregnant or not.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another entirely un-edited chapter because I'm depressed and have no motivation. Hilariously though, this chapter is mostly smut. There is definitely some plot though, so don't skim too hard. Good stuff, here. Promise.
> 
> lots of love, hope you guys enjoy this! thanks for putting up with my weird ideas. Really appreciate the support, here. it encourages me to be weirder.

It had been a week and some odd three days, or so. Aziraphale hadn’t been keeping count, exactly. He’d been lying in bed for most of it, and through the week and some odd days, Crowley had brought him food and drink. They had talked, too. Crowley had played Aziraphale the lute, and Aziraphale had talked about life on Earth. Somewhere in there, Crowley had talked about something a bit more important. Aziraphale had been Sacrificed on the night of the Summer Solstice, which was not only a time when the veil between the earth and Eden was thinnest, but it was also Crowley’s peak. He was a snake, at his core, and therefore thrived in warmer weather.

That had led Crowley to the unfortunate confession that he would not be like this forever. The Snake God was not just a title, but a fact. When winter came around, in order to preserve himself and his energy, Crowley would revert into a true snake. Just as large and just as intelligent, but he would no longer have the face of a human. There had been a long, long moment of silence before Aziraphale just kissed Crowley on the forehead and asked if he could have something to eat. Perfect acceptance, and the issue hadn’t been brought up again. Then, the odd three days had passed.

Aziraphale had woken up in a veritable pile of goop. It was sticky and wet, concentrated around his thighs and hips. He hadn’t even noticed until he rolled over, looking for Crowley. Crowley never stayed in bed long, even if he liked to sleep. Crowley had barely fit in his own bed, and with Aziraphale taking up most of it, it was like Crowley had stopped sleeping all together. He hadn’t been there, which wasn’t unusual, but he was usually close by. When Aziraphale had moved, he felt the wetness in the sheets, between his thighs. He’d ripped back the top sheet and stared down at—whatever it was.

“C-Crowley?” Aziraphale called out. Just as he suspected, Crowley hadn’t been far. It took less than three seconds for him to show at the side of the bed, leaning over on his hands.

“What is it—oh,” Crowley looked down at the spread, the mess. His eyes lit up, all at once, and his pupils dilated at the sight.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale said again, quieter.

“Up. Off the bed,” came Crowley’s soft order. He took Aziraphale’s hands and helped him down, and Aziraphale shifted at the sticky mess between his thighs. “We’ll go to the lake for a bath, but don’t you feel it?”

“Feel what?”

Crowley snickered. “The mating plug’s dissolved. It’s a bigger mess than I’d thought, but that doesn’t matter. Don’t you see?”

“I don’t—I don’t understand,” Aziraphale said, blinking up at Crowley. Crowley didn’t seem to care about the giant mess Aziraphale had made of his sheets, and instead, grabbed Aziraphale’s hands up in his own.

“The egg took,” Crowley whispered.

Aziraphale brightened all at once. “You mean to say—? Crowley, are you sure?” He wrenched his hands from Crowley’s to put them around Crowley’s face instead, to hold him close.

They kissed, then, with Crowley’s claws around Aziraphale’s body. The way his thumbs rested over Aziraphale’s stomach was in _reverence_. Aziraphale was pregnant. Crowley’s egg was nestled up inside him, in his womb—it had taken to him, and it would _grow_. Eventually, it would dissolve away completely, once the baby was large enough to live without it. And then, the baby would continue to grow. These were just the details. The pointed stupid little details that Crowley would tell Aziraphale later. The dissolution of the egg would mean more mess, but they had _time_ before that happened. Crowley just wanted to kiss Aziraphale and kiss him again.

Crowley snapped his fingers to change the sheets before he backed Aziraphale onto them. When Aziraphale’s knees hit the bed, he tumbled back gracefully, and the impact shook his body in such an enticing way, Crowley couldn’t help but want to grab. He _couldn__’t_ grab, not with his claws, but he did lean down to press his teeth into Aziraphale’s neck and suck on his skin. His cocks had already betrayed him, slipping out from his body to rub into the space between Aziraphale’s thighs. That red fabric was still tightly wound about Aziraphale’s pelvis, and Crowley was beginning to _hate_ it.

“Why do you humans insist on wearing _clothes_?” Crowley hissed.

Aziraphale laughed underneath him, smiling through a second kiss. The third kiss, and then he could feel the tip of Crowley’s cock against his cunt, through the fabric. That was enough to give Crowley away, and Aziraphale pushed him up to find more space. Aziraphale sat up and looked down; Crowley’s cocks were laid out on the bed, innocently, like Crowley had entirely not intended for this to happen. He even looked a bit ashamed, ready to tell Aziraphale that his own arousal was nothing. Certainly not an obligation. But Crowley didn’t have a chance to speak before Aziraphale was venturing a curious hand over the slick skin of one of them.

Crowley’s cocks were long and thicker than one a human might have, yet not so thick that Aziraphale was afraid. In fact, he marveled in the one that he touched. The way the skin was heated, how it seemed to slick and twitch under his touch. They were tapered, the heads being thinner and the base being an impressive thickness. Aziraphale couldn’t believe he’d had each one inside of him. That the entire length of them had disappeared, one at a time, inside of _his_ body. There were little ridges along the underside, and Aziraphale even remembered the feel of those, against his walls. He found himself wanting it all again—all of it. Right down the plug that Crowley had left inside him.

When Aziraphale laid back and spread himself out, Crowley knew it was nothing short of an invitation. The golden outfit Aziraphale had on hiked up just enough that Crowley could see the underside of his belly and the top line of the red fabric. Crowley had to be careful when he reached for it, but he hooked one of his claws underneath the fabric and looked squarely at Aziraphale. Aziraphale was shivering, trying to keep his body still. This was such a play of _trust_; he wouldn’t ruin it with his inability to keep still. He wouldn’t let Crowley think this would hurt him, so he dug his hands into the sheets beneath him and bit into his lip. Nodding.

The tear was slow and tortuous, but Crowley’s claw went right through the fabric until it had torn right apart and fallen away. The part of it that was wet, soaked from Aziraphale’s cunt, stayed firmly pressed up between his lips, and Crowley had a horrid idea about it. He slunk down, almost entirely off the bed, and flicked his tongue over the fabric. Aziraphale tensed, but he relaxed a second later with a _moan_. Crowley stayed like that, licking Aziraphale through the fabric of his cloth, working around the outline of his labia, his clit. Finding everything just where he knew it would be—he had crafted Aziraphale’s cunt, himself, after all.

It was only after Aziraphale’s thighs were trembling that Crowley dared another chance with his claws, tucking one right up into the slit of Aziraphale’s cunt to find the top of the fabric. Aziraphale nearly convulsed, and he came. Crowley had nudged his claw just right up against Aziraphale’s clit, and that had been the end. The fabric was torn away, after, and Crowley surged up on his hands. He did the same thing to the rest of Aziraphale’s clothes, his pretty gold dress. Crowley would replace it, but for now, he was getting his _claws_ on Aziraphale. That’s all that mattered. He tore the dress right open, and Aziraphale was bare to him.

His body was all the same, just fat with size. Crowley _liked _him that way, plush with all that extra skin. If Crowley could grab at it, he would. For the most part, he could dream about burying his cocks in all the little crooks in Aziraphale’s body. Specially, right between the swell of his tits. Crowley leaned down to lick a firm stripe up Aziraphale’s sternum, and Aziraphale shivered in response. Crowley decided right then: Aziraphale’s closet was heresy of the finest order, and no bride of his should ever be allowed to hide their body away. Not when it looked like this. Not when every shuddering breath had his skin bouncing so enticingly.

“These will swell, you know,” Crowley said, “when my baby starts to grow.” He palmed over Aziraphale’s chest like it really would compare to being able to _grab_ Aziraphale’s skin. To squeeze him, to play with his nipples. Aziraphale had such beautifully sized nipples.

Crowley hummed and pressed his lips over Aziraphale’s skin, over his left tit. He hummed, ran his lips over the smooth expanse without so much as a goal in mind, until the seam of them ran over Aziraphale’s nipple. Then, his lips parted, and he sucked the bud into his mouth. Aziraphale groaned, his hips bucking. As Crowley slithered farther onto the bed, his cocks pressed closer to Aziraphale’s body, nestled up in the juncture of his pelvis and thighs.

“W-Weren’t we going to bathe?” Aziraphale managed. “I’m _a mess,_ Crowley—”

“It’s _my_ mess,” Crowley replied, flicking his tongue over the nipple. “_My_ mess from _our _baby,” and he looked at Aziraphale then, the word _baby_ falling off his tongue like a song. Their baby. Not just Crowley’s. “But,” and Crowley pulled away slightly, “whatever it is you want, I’ll do.”

There wasn’t even a moment of hesitation before Aziraphale spoke: “I want them both, dear—” he gasped out. “I want both of your cocks, please—inside me.”

Crowley let out a prideful little snicker. “And here I thought you were going to call this off all together. I should have known better, clever little thing like you.”

“Crowley, _please_, I want to be filled again,” Aziraphale said. He brought his hands up over Crowley’s neck to drag him down, to press another desperate kiss into his lips. “I feel so empty, and…” he trailed off, looking at Crowley to fill in the rest, so he wouldn’t have to speak it.

“You’ll be the death of me, angel,” Crowley warned, and then surged forward to capture Aziraphale in a heavy kiss, tongue deep in his mouth already.

A moment later, Aziraphale found himself up on his hands and knees with Crowley down between his cheeks, tongue plunged inside of his arse. Crowley had palmed his cocks and licked the slick from his claws, and then wormed his tongue right up inside Aziraphale. The heat had spread moments after, and Aziraphale found himself face down in the pillows, drooling and moaning out his pleasure. This was how Crowley wanted to do it, and Aziraphale would take absolutely anything he could get. A tongue inside of him, his own hand wormed down between his thighs to play over his new, sensitive flesh.

His clit was especially sensitive, but that wasn’t his concern. _Coming _wasn’t his concern, even if the thought of doing so left a pleasant shiver up his spine and an ache in his thighs. All he cared about was being _open_. Crowley’s cocks inside of him was something he’d just been dreaming about, and it felt only moments away now. He had two fingers inside of his cunt, scissoring himself apart while Crowley fucked him on his tongue. All if it came together with the _weight_ he could feel left over from the egg. He’d feel that weight for as long as it took, and somehow, it turned him on just as much as it had Crowley.

The moment Crowley pulled his tongue back, excitement strummed through Aziraphale. He knew it was _time_. He was being turned over onto his front again, his fingers pulled out so Crowley could pin him down to the bed, and Aziraphale _groaned_. Crowley’s claws held him into the bed, kept him entirely immobile. They kissed, and Aziraphale _tasted_ himself on Crowley’s tongue. He’d have to get used to that, if this was the only real way Crowley could get him ready. And then, when they separated, Aziraphale was turned on his side and his leg hoisted up over Crowley’s shoulder.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” Crowley whispered. “Please.”

Aziraphale nodded and reached out to pull a pillow into his chest. He wrapped his arms around it and held. Nervousness drummed out just under the excitement, and a second later, he felt the blunt head of Crowley’s cock pushing up between his cheeks. The placement wasn’t so comfortable, but Aziraphale knew this would make it easier. Crowley’s cocks were next to each other, separated out just inches apart. It made _sense_ for Aziraphale to be lined up the same way, his holes next to each other, not on top of one another. His hip complained about it, but he kept his lips tightly shut—until Crowley’s cock speared him right open, and his jaw fell open in a silent gasp.

“Just like that, there you go,” Crowley muttered. He ran his claw as gently down Aziraphale’s side as he could, rocking into him.

Crowley pushed forward gently, slowly, never going in deeper than he had. It was just a rock of his hips, and Aziraphale keened for it. He tried to work his hips down, but Crowley held him steadfast and still. There was no room for fidgeting and squirming; Crowley didn’t want to _hurt_ Aziraphale and knew very well how much this might. But gods, if Aziraphale’s determination hadn’t struck a chord with him. His cocks were dripping with slick at the idea of stuffing Aziraphale, leaving him full in just the way he wanted. Maybe he should slow down, but he was pressing his second cock between Aziraphale’s swollen labia a second later.

“C-Crowley—” Aziraphale gasped.

“Relax,” Crowley told him, leaning down to press a kiss into his temple. “You were made for me, angel. You’ll take it, won’t you?”

Aziraphale nodded, whimpering, and Crowley pressed his cock forward. There wasn’t an ounce of pain, as Crowley’s cockhead breached him. Just overwhelming pleasure as Aziraphale’s entire body spasmed and shivered around Crowley’s cocks. He clenched down around them and cried out; Crowley didn’t move until he’d stopped. The sudden rush of slick from Aziraphale’s cunt eased the slide, and suddenly, Crowley was pulling back. He couldn’t contain his own groan, watching the way his _cocks_ slipped in and out of Aziraphale, each shallow little thrust. No more than the head disappeared, Crowley unwilling to push too fast, too soon.

“If you could _see_ this,” Crowley gasped, in awe. “You’re _stuffed_ on my cocks—”

“_More_,” Aziraphale gasped. He reached down to run his fingers through his folds, to feel where Crowley disappeared inside of him. The shudder that overtook him was _everything_, and Crowley wouldn’t dare control himself after that. Aziraphale clearly couldn’t control himself, the little twitches of his hips, the subtle little rocks. He was trying to egg Crowley on.

Crowley _obliged_ in a sudden rock of his hips, pushing his cocks in deeper. Deeper, until Aziraphale’s leg was bent up at a perfect angle, and Crowley’s hips were rippling right up against his pelvis. Aziraphale shuddered, gripped into the sheets, and tried to work his hips back. The position made it difficult, but he tried. He tried for all he was worth, and then Crowley did the rest. Rocking into him at a sudden, deep pace. Slow, so Aziraphale could feel every inch that disappeared inside of him. Every drip of slick that gushed around him as Crowley pushed deeper. The deep _burn_ of whatever it was in Crowley’s slick that made him feel so lightheaded, so warm.

Aziraphale was loose and open, and the second Crowley knew just _how_ open—his pace picked up. He fucked into Aziraphale, his scales rippling the closer he came. Every press forward had his cocks brushing over _everything_ inside of Aziraphale that left him a moaning, drooling mess. His eyes were closed tightly, his lips spread wide with every cry he made. Drool, pooling on the sheets beneath him. The slick around his thighs, the mess in the sheets. Crowley worked himself faster, bracing himself on the bed. He would rip the sheets and not pay a mind for it, because he was close, close, _close_, and could feel Aziraphale spasming around him in another orgasm.

“Aziraphale—” Crowley gasped.

“Inside me, please,” Aziraphale begged. “Fill me—fill me, I want—” Aziraphale broke off in a gasp. Crowley leaned over him and snaked his tongue over Aziraphale’s skin, just under his ear where it made him shiver.

“_Tell me_,” Crowley commanded.

“Mate with me, again—please, Crowley, please!” Aziraphale cried out over another thrust, and this time, Crowley’s hips stuttered and shook. Every ripple of his scales pressed right up into Aziraphale’s skin and made him shudder again. Another orgasm, another gush of pleasure over Crowley’s cock, and everything crested all at once.

When Crowley pulled back, slowly and carefully, he left that tight, full feeling that Aziraphale had come to recognize. Only this time, it was _everywhere_. He still reached down between his cheeks to confirm it, and he felt the waxy feel of the plug stuffed up nicely in his hole. He could feel the one nestled in his cunt, and it left him full. Happy. Contented. When Crowley leaned over him for a kiss, Aziraphale hummed into it and met it with as much fervor as he could manage.

Then, the bath. Crowley carried Aziraphale to the lake and bathed him in the clear, blue waters. Aziraphale made himself comfortable on the bank, after that, and left himself open for Crowley to _look_ at while he bathed himself. Aziraphale was positively glowing in his newfound joy, and he smiled when Crowley came closer. Crowley hadn’t even to coax his thighs apart, not when Aziraphale spread them willingly and shook over Crowley’s tongue again, as he lapped between Aziraphale’s folds, over the mating plug inside him.

On his hands and knees, Aziraphale presented himself for Crowley again. Without a thought left for pretense and courtesy, Crowley surged up out of the water and buried his cocks between Aziraphale’s thighs. His slick soaked through Aziraphale’s skin and _still_ left him feeling hot and pleasant, _good_. He came again, and again, with Crowley fucking furiously into his skin. Crowley’s claws were on his hips, digging into his flesh. The best part of that was Crowley didn’t even seem to notice the press of his claws, and it didn’t hurt. It wouldn’t ever be _allowed_ to hurt, and Aziraphale felt his impending orgasm bloom and crest over, once more. Crowley followed shortly, and the whole thing left them both in need of another bath.

“You know,” Crowley said, once they had settled back against the banks of the water, “it really will be _our_ baby.”

Aziraphale was set up in Crowley’s lap, straddling him and head against his chest. That comment roused him from his bliss, and he looked up at Crowley. “How do you mean?”

“I provided my half, and the rest, the egg absorbs from you. Whatever it needs, your body knows how to give, now.”

Aziraphale settled back into Crowley’s chest and smiled into his skin. “That sounds wonderful.”

“Maybe your Priests told you you would just be a way to birth my spawn, but that’s not—”

“They didn’t tell me anything of the sort,” Aziraphale said, blissfully aware of how best not to upset Crowley. “I wasn’t ever told I would carry a god’s child.”

“Oh,” was all Crowley said.

“I’m not all that unhappy about it. Rather,” and Aziraphale laughed, “I’m quite overjoyed. This has been a wonderful experience, and I’ll not wish for it to ever change.”

Crowley’s arms suddenly came around his body, and Crowley nodded. “Gods don’t often feel blessed, you know. We do the blessing, as it were. But this is something entirely different.”

It still sounded a bit like something Crowley wasn’t ready to say, a bit about love. Aziraphale felt it thrum out from the very core of his chest, where a heart might beat if a god had any purpose for silly human things like hearts. Still, there was a radiating warmth that Aziraphale couldn’t deny, and it certainly _felt_ like love. In the same way he could feel it in Crowley’s hands, the way they were careful and refused to do harm. In Crowley’s eyes, the way they looked so pointedly at Aziraphale with blown pupils. Everything felt warm and lovely, and Aziraphale couldn’t find it in himself to deny he felt the same.

Eventually, Crowley situated himself in the grass with his tail draped down in the water, wrapped tightly around Aziraphale to keep him steady, and Aziraphale laved his tongue over one of Crowley’s cocks. Aziraphale’s _need_ never did seem quite placated, and with the plugs inside him now, there wasn’t much more he could do. But he had wanted to this. The taste of Crowley’s slick was almost sweet, sickeningly, and Aziraphale wanted to gulp it down if he could.

He’d never be able to take Crowley’s cocks fully in his mouth, and certainly not both at once. But he would be damned not to try _something_. He sunk his lips over the head of Crowley’s cock, and the other, he stroked firmly with his hand. His expertise was limited, but Crowley knew that and didn’t seem to care. His hips still bucked, he groaned and rolled his head back when Aziraphale switched cocks. He encouraged Aziraphale with his moans, his _words_. He even worked the end of his tails between Aziraphale’s cheeks, to wrap around him fully all the way around to his clit so he would come too, at the end of this.

Aziraphale’s enthusiasm made up quickly for his lack of skill, and Crowley was coming down Aziraphale’s throat, over his hand, the ground. Eventually, Aziraphale was bathed _once_ more. Hours had passed by then, and Aziraphale couldn’t entirely find it in himself to care. The longer he could spend wrapped up in Crowley’s arms, his tail—the better.

The next six months were spent in horribly pleasant bliss. At the two-month mark, Aziraphale woke to another horrid mess in the remnants of the egg: what his body had been unable to absorb. At the four-month mark, Aziraphale had noticed a significant growth in his stomach that was impossible to ignore. He and Crowley had spent the whole day wrapped about each other, after that. Crowley had been so enamored with the size of Aziraphale’s stomach, he hadn’t left him alone. The six-month mark had been just as big as an event, if not for the same reason.

It was the day before the winter solstice or would have been if Aziraphale was on Earth. Not that he had any reason to know this, either, given the way time fluctuated in Eden. Crowley and Aziraphale just existed in Eden. There was no time. There were barely day cycles. But on Earth, it had been six months, and the winter solstice was the following day. The days had lined up just well enough that the sun in Eden rose with the sun on Earth, and Aziraphale woke up in bed alone.

Crowley was never far, but Aziraphale didn’t even have to look for him, this time. He turned his head to the left, ready to call for him, and just outside, hidden in the tall grass, was the telling sign of Crowley in the stark black top of his tail. Aziraphale stepped out of bed, a hand against the round of his stomach to somehow help steady himself. Once he was firm on his own two feet again, he walked out of the marble building and into the grass. The only problem came when he could not find the end of Crowley’s tail, which was quite frankly where he had begun. He started at the thin tip of it and walked along its length. The tail grew thicker, wider; the scales were bigger, shinier. And at the end of it, the beginning, there was on torso of a man with bright golden eyes and red curls. There was the head of a snake, eyes closed.

“C-Crowley?” Aziraphale gasped out. There was no response, not until Aziraphale dropped down to his knees and ran his fingers over the large head. The entire snake was large; a great _beast_, really. Aziraphale couldn’t help the tremble in his hands.

The snake’s eyes opened, then, and they were the same golden things that Aziraphale recognized. The snake rose up, then, and stared directly at Aziraphale. There was a long, long moment before anything happened, and the only thing that happened was the snake nudged into Aziraphale until he was standing again. From there, the snake stayed eye-level with him, and the words that were spoken were not so much spoken as they sounded out at the back of Aziraphale’s skull.

_I guess I should explain a few things._

Aziraphale nodded dumbly and followed the snake back to the marble house, the bed. Aziraphale sat down on the edge of it, and the snake eventually curled its way up onto the sheets. It curled around Aziraphale’s waist twice over before resting his head over Aziraphale’s thighs. It was the first indication that this wasn’t just a snake. This was _Crowley_—somehow, this was Crowley.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale had to at least _try_. Even if he knew it in the way the snake felt, it was still strange to believe it. This was a snake—his Crowley wasn’t a snake. He was part snake, the Snake God. But he wasn’t _truly_ a snake. This snake was certainly large enough to swallow Aziraphale, and it became imperative to believe that this was Crowley. Aziraphale didn’t need that kind of stress, thinking he was in danger.

_Yes_. The snake replied, again, at the back of Aziraphale’s skull. Crowley wasn’t talking, and how would he be able to? As a snake? But he was thinking, and every thought passed right through Aziraphale’s bones until he could hear the reverberating sound.

Crowley went into his explanation, then, without waiting for Aziraphale’s approval. And Aziraphale listened. It was something he had told Aziraphale before, though in less detail, and hoped he appreciated the refresher. This was a natural cycle in Crowley’s life. He was strong in the summer and weak in the winter, and winter was moments from starting. He would be like this until winter ended; thankfully, he was able to spend more time as a part-human than he spent as a full snake, but this time was crucial to his existence. It was time to refresh, to restore himself. Without the extra power going to maintaining a strange form, he could completely restore himself come the spring. Then, he could only hope he was back to normal by the time their child was born. He wanted to be able to _hold_ whatever child Aziraphale would give him.

Through the whole talk, Aziraphale just dragged his hands up and down Crowley’s scales. Petting him, really, and marveling over his shimmer. It wasn’t just that Crowley’s top half had turned into a snake, it was that the entirety of him looked different. His body was nearly as thick as Aziraphale’s, and it was much, much longer. Tapered off down into this arrow-shaped head, his bright yellow eyes. Crowley’s tongue poked out every now and again, much like a real snake’s, and Aziraphale found himself quite endeared by it.

_You believe in me, don__’t you_? Crowley suddenly asked.

“How could I not? You’re so affectionate, there’s no one else you could possibly be,” Aziraphale laughed. Crowley didn’t even have the ability to _look_ indignant about that, even if he snorted. It was hard to deny Aziraphale’s comment with how closely Crowley was nestled around his middle.

_I resent that_. Crowley did say, a hiss sounding out in Aziraphale’s mind. Aziraphale smiled and stroked his hand down a little farther.

“You really are quite lovely, you know,” Aziraphale said. “Were you afraid that I would dislike this?”

_A bit_. Crowley admitted. _I didn__’t want you to be afraid of me_.

“I could never,” Aziraphale laughed to himself. “Like I said, far too affectionate.”

Crowley seemed to preen at the comment, like he had done himself some great service by being as kind as he had been. Aziraphale _trusted_ him to the point that this new form didn’t frighten him. He even held Crowley’s head in his hands and brought him closer to plant a kiss right on the crest of his nose. Crowley’s tongue poked out and returned the kiss in his own, strange version of it where the fork of his tongue touched over Aziraphale’s lips.

“Crowley…” Aziraphale sighed and smiled. Crowley’s head bumped into him, and Aziraphale ran his fingers down over Crowley’s scales again. The red of his underbelly was such a stark color in comparison to the rest of his scales. Stark black, shimmering like a sky. Aziraphale was overwhelmed with it, all at once, how lovely Crowley looked. How much he _loved_ Crowley—and that was still a terrifying prospect. Crowley had told him, six months prior, that he would _die_ after he gave birth to their child.

“How long?” Aziraphale asked. “Do you know how long my pregnancy will last?”

Crowley shook his head. _Never had a kid_. He reminded.

That set a brick in Aziraphale’s throat. Humans were pregnant for nine months—at the least, he would have three months left to live. He didn’t know the numbers so perfectly, only that his time seemed short and uncertain. It had him holding Crowley close, a minute later. Never had Aziraphale felt like such a foolish child in his life than he did in that moment, where he was hugging the thick neck of a snake. It wasn’t just a snake. It was Crowley in a different form. He was still just as intelligent, still just as caring. Aziraphale’s sudden shift in mood didn’t go past him, and he curled around Aziraphale just a little tighter.

_I will look for ways to save you_. Crowley muttered. _I have been, all this time_.

Aziraphale just sniffed and shook his head. “Please, don’t give me hope.”

Crowley rested solemnly into his shoulder and didn’t press farther.

Nothing settled, after that. Restlessness took over Aziraphale, and even when he paced out in the grass, Crowley was there. Crowley seemed slower, sluggish, but he was there. He was never out of Aziraphale’s sight, always within reach if he needed him. Aziraphale might have thought to sit down in the grass and let Crowley curl up around him, like a bed all in himself. But he didn’t. He paced, he worried at his clothes. He’d chosen something red, for the occasion, because it seemed to be something like Crowley’s favorite color. It wasn’t as if Crowley had a true preference, but he always seemed to react nicely to red.

The robes were held together with golden, snake shaped pendants at his shoulders. They draped down around him, over the bump in his stomach, and spread back out again at his hips where his legs were visible. He was never cold in Eden, even if Crowley had told him winter was well on its way. In a day, it would be in full force, but the weather had already gone cold. He would have to rethink his clothes, but that was the last thing on his mind. Nothing was on his mind, not when the shells of Eden seemed like they would _shake_.

It caught Crowley’s attention immediately. The shaking of Eden. The cracks in the shell around them. The shock of it had taken Aziraphale to the ground, and Crowley went to him immediately to curl around him, protectively. As if there was really something that Crowley could do for him in form like this, but Aziraphale welcomed the warmth. He craved it, even, and ran his hands over Crowley’s scales to calm himself until the tremors stopped. Then, just off in the distance, near the edge of the garden, Aziraphale saw a light. It looked like a tear, more than anything, in shimmering light. Through it, if he squinted hard enough, he could see the outline of the village.

“Crowley—” Aziraphale pointed to it.

_No!_ Crowley hissed.

“What’s happening? Crowley, isn’t that—?”

_The ritual. _Crowley responded. _They mean to take you back_.

“Take me back?! What do you mean? I thought you said—” and Aziraphale scrambled up to his feet. It didn’t seem like a _choice_ in the matter, and he could already feel a strange tug in his feet, like he would be swallowed into the ground and fall, fall, fall—until he hit the ground again. Until he was back on that ugly stone slab surrounded by people who had always looked at him with disdain.

_I didn__’t know_. Crowley insisted.

It made sense, though. Time didn’t work right in Eden. It did what it wanted, outside of the realm of routine and control. The baby wouldn’t be safe here, not in the state it would exist in as a newborn. Earth was stable, safe, and the baby was _for_ the village. A proof of Crowley’s power and his ability to protect and provide. Aziraphale remembered it in the books: demigods lived among their people because they could. Gods couldn’t walk the earth in their true power, and that limitation wouldn’t just disappear because Crowley wanted it to. Even if he didn’t know, he must have connected the dots. Aziraphale looked at him and _believed_ Crowley must have made sense of it, the look of guilt in his eyes.

_Aziraphale_—

“They’ll _take_ me,” Aziraphale cried. “They’ll send me back to that temple where Sandalphon—” and he cut off in a sudden cry, his hands over his mouth.

He’d told Crowley, eventually. He started out from his youth and ended at the memory that Crowley knew, with his piercings. Everything that Sandalphon had done to him, he’d poured it all out for Crowley in a horridly macabre tale, and Crowley hadn’t said a word. He’d taken Aziraphale up into his arms, claws always overly cautious, and held him until he stopped crying. There were no threats of smiting, of death, or serious injury. Crowley had known better not to say things like that at that time. All he’d done was kiss Aziraphale’s hair and held him.

Now, he could see how terrified Aziraphale was to return to earth. Where Sandalphon would be. All of those things that Aziraphale had been so terrified of, had felt so free from now, would come swarming back all at once. Crowley wouldn’t _be_ there to protect him, to enact on those horrible things he always said. He would send Sandalphon down to the deepest pits of Hell, if he could, but that wasn’t an option. He was powerless like this, a snake, and hadn’t even arms to hold Aziraphale in.

“How long do I have? Do you know?”

_Soon_. Crowley said. _Ritual doesn__’t take long_/

“Crowley—” Aziraphale went to him immediately, taking his head in his hands again. He took in a deep breath, sucking it down forcibly while he gathered up his courage. “Fuck me.”

_What? Aziraphale—_

“Please— I need this. I need you. I can’t go back down there without _something_ from you, I—” Aziraphale’s body shivered, and he fell back down to his knees. Crowley followed.

_You_ _’re pregnant, I don’t want to hurt you._

“I _need_ this, Crowley, please—!” Aziraphale gasped.

_Even like this?_

“Especially like this! Crowley, I love you,” Aziraphale cried out. “Please, I need you. I need you before they take me from you—what if I don’t see you again?”

Aziraphale could die down there. The moment Crowley realized that, he couldn’t deny Aziraphale anything that he wanted. If Aziraphale wanted to lay with him, once more, just like this—then Crowley would do exactly what he needed. There was every chance that it was the last time they would ever see each other. Crowley may not even get to meet his own child, but if he could have this last moment with Aziraphale, then maybe things wouldn’t be so bad. Not as bad as they seemed, anyway.

_Please don__’t cry, Aziraphale_. Crowley said, nudging against his cheek. _Take your robes off for me_.

Aziraphale undid the broaches, and the robes fell right off of his body. There wasn’t much Crowley could do, but they both knew that. It wasn’t the point—doing things. It was the action. Aziraphale wanted Crowley inside of him, and that’s all that mattered to him. He relaxed into Crowley’s hold, as Crowley wound entirely around him. His feet were off the ground, Crowley’s body draped tightly across his chest in such a way that the ripple of his underbelly tugged at his nipples. Aziraphale whimpered and shifted his thighs farther apart.

When Crowley settled, Aziraphale was entirely wrapped up in his body. His legs were spread, and there was a part of Crowley’s body that had draped over his bared cunt and just _rubbed_. His underbelly rolled against Aziraphale’s cunt, rubbed and dragged along Aziraphale’s sensitive flesh. It wasn’t for another moment that Aziraphale _realized_ just what he was feeling, and it was Crowley’s cocks nestled between his folds. Every move of Crowley’s tail dragged them through the slick Aziraphale was making, and it mixed with Crowley’s slick.

His cocks were smaller in this form, and he had less control over them, but they were _harder_. Sharper, almost, and Aziraphale found himself bucking down into them like he hadn’t noticed the hooked barbs that covered Crowley’s cocks. Crowley’s head was floating near his, his tongue poking out over Aziraphale’s jaw, nuzzling into his jaw.

_I won__’t hurt you. _Crowley reminded. _I__’ve _made_ you to take my cocks, even like this_.

Aziraphale nodded hurriedly. The barbs didn’t hurt, not even against the soft skin of his cunt. Inside, they would feel like hard ridges, but they would keep Crowley inside of him no matter how he moved, even if he struggled—and he wouldn’t. He wanted this more than anything. And Crowley had been right, his body _was_ made to take Crowley. No matter the form he had, no matter what shape he was. Aziraphale opened right up for him, and he always would.

The first stretch was impressive, both of Crowley’s cocks right up against each other, pressing into Aziraphale’s cunt. His lips spread, his hole opened, and Crowley was inside of him a second later. There was no thrusting, just a tight hold on his inner walls. Crowley’s tail rolled, his scales rippled, and Aziraphale found himself _dripping_ with slick. He couldn’t contain the sound of his voice, Crowley’s name on his lips in a litany of cries. He wanted more, and more he got.

Crowley dragged the tip of his tail through the slick of Aziraphale’s cunt, and not only did that drag Aziraphale’s first orgasm out of him, but it left Crowley’s thin ending slick enough to press into Aziraphale’s backside. When Crowley breached him, Aziraphale cried out and gripped into his body. Crowley left him stuffed, suspended, and thoroughly _pleased_. All he could do was moan out his pleasure, lean his head into Crowley’s and pretend that it was enough to last him the literal rest of his life. Every ripple of Crowley’s body, every sharp press of his tail through Aziraphale’s body, left him gasping for more. If only time could last forever.

“Crowley—” Aziraphale gasped. “Crowley, more, more—please—”

Deeper, Crowley’s tail pressed deeper into his arse and speared him open the farther down on Crowley’s tail he sunk. Aziraphale cried out, tears brimming at the edges of his eyes, and he pushed his hips down. His cunt all but pulsed around Crowley’s cocks, _both_ of them. Everything was overwhelming, all the way down to the way the barbs didn’t hurt. Crowley had been right. They dug into Aziraphale’s walls and felt like ridges, brushing into ever nerve Aziraphale had. It was times like this he couldn’t even miss the cock he’d had, because this hadn’t been possible before. The shock waves of pleasure, the rippling goodness that spread up through his spine, made him warm.

_I love you, Aziraphale_. Crowley whispered. _You__’re perfect, beautiful, and you will always be my bride._

Just as everything crested, Crowley bit down into Aziraphale’s neck and left him screaming. Aziraphale spasmed around Crowley, just as Crowley finished inside him. Just as promised, Crowley left his cunt stuffed with another mating plug, and Aziraphale could only assume it was a godly bit of magic that left one in his arse, too. There wasn’t even time to enjoy himself, to bask in the afterglow of Crowley’s fuck, his confession. Crowley pulled Aziraphale back into him and wrapped tightly around him, and it was a last-ditch effort to stop something that was far too inevitable.

The next thing Aziraphale knew, he was cold, freezing—tears were streaming down his face as he curled in on himself, his bare knees on the stone slab, the place he’d been sacrificed. There were eyes, eyes of all the villagers staring right at him. For the next quiet moments, still moments, nothing happened. They had planned for a festival in return of the Sacrifice, but this wasn’t a moment to celebrate. Aziraphale could feel the ache building up around him, the mess from their coupling—he was covered in bruises from Crowley’s scales, a purpling bite mark on his neck just below the snake mark that had appeared. Aziraphale couldn’t even bear to look up and meet their eyes.

Gabriel’s was the first voice he heard. Shouting that the villagers needed to leave, that someone needed to find some clothes. Then, there was something draped over his shoulders, and Gabriel was kneeling down at his side, hands over him in a half-hug. Keeping him closer, warm.

“Don’t worry, sunshine,” Gabriel whispered. “I’ll take care of you.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes and fell into Gabriel’s chest. This was familiar. This was safe. Safe enough


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter!!! Whoooooooo. Had a real bad day yesterday, but I'm gonna just pretend that didn't happen, because I banged this out in less than three hours. Very impressive of myself, if I do say so. Absolutely wonderful. I hope you guys enjoy!!
> 
> A couple warnings real fast. Sandalphon is back for this chapter  
**Attempted rape/non-con, Sandalphon talks about his nasty fantasies and masturbates.** One scene is at the beginning and one scene is at the end, so they're pretty easy to skip over if you just want the important plot.
> 
> Also, again, this is unedited. So if you see any big problems, feel free to shout at me. If I ever do this in a professional capacity, i'll certainly look at getting a beta heuheu.

Fire crackled somewhere not too far off in the distance, no less than a room a way, just past the foot of the bed. There had been no fires in Eden: the weather was always a temperate sort of thing that, no matter what Aziraphale had chosen to wear, there was never a cause to dress down or cover up. That was not the case here, where Aziraphale was. He wasn’t _in_ Eden, anymore. He hadn’t been in Eden for an entire night, and he awoke to the sound of that fire crackling, somewhere not too far off in the distance. When he opened his eyes, he saw it, burning over the end of the bed. He recognized the fireplace, the walls, the blankets.

The temple. All of it belonged to the temple, and Aziraphale was back inside it’s cold, stone walls. Fire only offered what superficial warmth it could, and the rest was blankets. Blankets piled on top of blankets on top of the white, plush robe Aziraphale had been dressed in when he returned. It had blue trim, laced up in the front, and hung heavy with the fur around the bottom. It all kept Aziraphale warm, but he still shivered when he leaned farther back into the mound of pillows. He’d called this place home, once, but the word no longer rang to any tune he knew.

A weight pressed into the bed just moments after Aziraphale opened his eyes. With the dead weight that rang on in his body, it took Aziraphale a long moment to realize the weight, and then, a longer one to find the strength to turn his head to _see_ the weight. He must have looked something dreadful, Aziraphale, akin to how he felt. He could feel the weight of his chin pressed up against his neck and could only imagine what a horrid sight it was. The way he’d plumped up, swelled over the months he was gone. It only dawned on him then that he had no real idea how long he’d been gone, and still—Gabriel looked at him like _that_. Like he missed him.

“You’re finally awake,” Gabriel said, a bit breathless. “I was afraid you wouldn’t. You know,” and he hesitated, “wake up.”

“Gabriel,” Aziraphale replied dully, and it was all he said. Gabriel had leaned over him, over the bed, and taken up his hand to give it a squeeze. Aziraphale barely responded to it, and Gabriel slipped away back into his chair with a sigh.

“I sent you somewhere horrible, didn’t I?” Gabriel started. “I thought by insisting you be Sacrificed, you’d be safe—but look at you. You look dreadful, Aziraphale. Bruises, bite marks—what did that god do to you?”

Aziraphale shook his head, and Gabriel pushed himself up out of his chair with a sudden fire, a rage. Just the thought that Aziraphale would refuse to talk about it, it was so horrible. It had been the same way with Sandalphon, and Gabriel had only found out about that because _Sandalphon_ liked to brag about it. Aziraphale was never one for speaking out against his betters, it wasn’t in his nature. Too gentle, too kind. Always believing that there was a purpose to things, and Gabriel wouldn’t have ever been able to teach him otherwise. Aziraphale wanted to believe in the goodness of things and look where it landed him. Bruised, beaten, and only that god knew what else.

“I know it’s blasphemy to say, but even a god has no right to hurt you! I don’t even know what I could do about this, but something—_something—__”_

“Gabriel, no—” Aziraphale croaked out. The exhaustion had completely wrecked him, and it showed. He could barely keep his eyes open. Suddenly being slapped with time left him in a strange sort of state where he didn’t feel real, anymore, and Gabriel’s shouting wasn’t doing anything to help him. All it did was make his head throb at the base of his skull, around to his temples. “He didn’t hurt me,” Aziraphale insisted.

“How do you explain the bruises? The marks—and what is that thing around your neck?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “Let me rest,” he said, sighed out.

Gabriel deflated all at once. Aziraphale had never once _demanded_ something, not of anyone. Even if his demand, now, was a soft one built on exhaustion. It was still a demand, not a request. He wasn’t asking that Gabriel have the kindness to leave him to sleep, he was demanding that Gabriel leave him to sleep. When he was feeling alright, he would explain the rest. Gabriel wouldn’t rest otherwise, not until he knew that Aziraphale hadn’t suffered some great torture over the past six months.

The pregnancy was a good thing, and Aziraphale looked _quite_ pregnant. To the point where the Arch Priests had been sure that he wouldn’t be doing much walking around, much socializing. He would be in bed, resting and eating, until he was ready to give birth. Which had to be done on earth, if not for the fact that the demigod he would bear belonged to the village, but because it would be safer. Those who knew just what they were doing would surround him. Crowley was a god, and he meant well, but that didn’t mean he had the necessary knowledge of how to handle a birth. This was for the best. And here, so close, Gabriel could keep an eye on him.

Only one fault in the plan remained, and that was Gabriel’s inability to sit in that seat for the rest of Aziraphale’s time. Even if he wanted to, it would be impossible for him. He had duties as an Arch Priest. He was human, on top of that, and required time to sleep and to eat and to drink. Aziraphale needed those things too, but above else, he needed that sleep. Gabriel hovering over him, as he was, wasn’t going to allow him to get that. There was so much to talk about, so much to understand, and in the end, Gabriel just stoked the fire.

“I’ll check in on you again,” he said, over his shoulder. Aziraphale had already settled back down into the pillows, underneath the blankets. He didn’t so much as respond, but Gabriel could see the shift of his head from the tip of the blankets. He heard well enough.

Gabriel left. He did keep to his promise and returned whenever he could. He brought Aziraphale food on a tray, and when he returned the next time, it was entirely gone. Aziraphale was always asleep when he came in, but the food was always eaten, the water always gone. And things went just the same way for the first day, for the second day. On the third day, a proverbial day of worship, things were slightly different. Slightly changed. The villagers always prayed more in the winter, to compensate for their Snake God’s weakened state. The schedule changed.

Still, when Aziraphale woke, he wasn’t alone. Fire still crackled strong on in the fireplace, and the light it provided was definitely stuttered out by a form. Someone was with Aziraphale when he woke up, but he didn’t dare stoop so far to assume it was Gabriel. Gabriel stayed to himself, mostly, in the chair set up beside the bed. The only time he had even deigned come closer to the bed was the very first moment Aziraphale had woken, when it was only to lean over him and _ensure_ he’d woken up. No, this weight was nearly _on top_ of him. Aziraphale struggled all at once, but there was no where he could move.

Earth and Eden were different; he didn’t feel so _alive_ down here, without Crowley. Without Crowley’s influence, which he had always suspected had done something for his heath. In Eden, even pregnant as he was, he had still been able to move with relative ease. Now, he was bogged down by the weight of his own body and the weight of another. His arms hadn’t even needed to be pinned down, given his condition. It was a foolhardy helpless thing that made him feel worse, pathetic, and then he went and had to open his _eyes_.

Sandalphon was draped over top of him, a toothy grin spread across his mouth as his eyes tore down Aziraphale in his haste to take everything in. He’d already pulled back Aziraphale’s blankets, before he’d awoken, and now the only thing left between Sandalphon’s touch and Aziraphale’s skin was the thick, fur robe he’d been wearing since he arrived back. Even that didn’t seem to deter Sandalphon, who made quite a show of spreading apart the collar so he could get a better look at Aziraphale’s neck—that snake mark that went around it. Then down, down, down Aziraphale’s chest to the skin of his sternum, between where his chest had indeed begun to swell into heavy tits.

“So smooth,” Sandalphon awed, “so _perfect_. Such a _shame_ I had to send you away to that monster.”

Aziraphale struggled, but there was nowhere to go. He couldn’t run, he wouldn’t be able to hide. Sandalphon was over him, just leering, and that alone kept Aziraphale right where he was. Eyes wide, hands paralyzed down by his sides. When Sandalphon’s hands ran down over his stomach, Aziraphale was left frozen. Staring. Horrified.

“And look what it did to you,” he crooned. Sandalphon smoothed his hands over Aziraphale’s belly, through the fabric of his robes, and wore a face of horror. “It’s a good thing to carry a god’s child, you know. An even better thing to carry _mine_.”

“D-don’t touch me,” Aziraphale tried, but even so much as kicking his legs reminded him just how close Sandalphon was. That any sudden movement might not hurt Sandalphon at all, but the baby.

“You didn’t really want to carry a god’s baby, did you? Not when it might spell your _doom_,” Sandalphon hissed. When Aziraphale’s brow arched, Sandalphon met with him a lecherous grin. “That’s right, that’s right. Don’t worry, pet. I know exactly what becomes of mortals who carry a god’s child, but that doesn’t have to happen to you.”

“Wh-what do you mean?” Aziraphale squeaked.

“It means we just have to remove this _thing_ from your body. Replace it with something _better_. You just let me right inside you, and I’ll fuck you until you’re fat with my seed instead—”

“No!” Aziraphale tried to wrench away. “No—no, don’t you dare!”

Sandalphon leaned over Aziraphale and pinned him down by the shoulders. “You foolish little thing, you. Better to just stay quiet so nobody gets hurt, yes?”

“Please,” Aziraphale’s voice did to quiet, “don’t hurt my baby—”

“_Your_ baby?” Sandalphon laughed. “You mean the Snake God’s _spawn_? I can’t imagine how it used you. It must have been one good _fuck_ to have you believing this is your child.”

Aziraphale just closed his eyes and shook his head, struggled against Sandalphon’s hold the best he could. Crowley had told him justly that this was _their_ child. That the egg would absorb whatever it needed from Aziraphale, and the baby wouldn’t just be another snake. It would belong to both of them, just like humans. Every word that Crowley said, Aziraphale believed it like sacred doctrine, and he wouldn’t let Sandalphon take that from him. He wouldn’t let Sandalphon take _this _from him, the baby. All at once, it was too painfully clear that Aziraphale would rather face the fate of a Sacrifice than live a moment longer, if it would mean he was to carry Sandalphon’s child. Life just wasn’t worth that.

“I was going to be nice and let you beg for it,” Sandalphon hissed. “But I think now I’ll just _take_ what I deserve. I raised you, I cared for you—I groomed you into the _perfect_ Sacrifice. Why should that blasted god get to reap the rewards of my work? Just one fuck is all I’m looking for. That’s all it’ll take to make you _mine_.”

Sandalphon leaned down over Aziraphale then and stole a kiss straight from him, one which Aziraphale breathed harshly into it and bucked wildly in attempts to get away. Sandalphon was old, but he retained unnatural strength. Aziraphale couldn’t even breathe properly until Sandalphon pulled back—until Sandalphon _let_ him, and then Aziraphale was gasping with it. All at once, Sandalphon was everywhere. His hands had gone down to cup Aziraphale’s fresh tits and squeeze them, massage them as he leaned back in over Aziraphale’s lips.

When Aziraphale bit down on Sandalphon’s lip, he retaliated with a hard press of his nails into Aziraphale’s skin. Aziraphale yelped but quieted into the kiss immediately when the nails didn’t let up. Sandalphon didn’t take back his cruel touch, in which he had decided a lovely time to dig the nails of his thumbs into Aziraphale’s nipples. With the rings the way they were, it was especially sensitive. Especially painful. And the touch didn’t dissipate until Aziraphale _relaxed_—best he could fake it—and returned Sandalphon’s kiss.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Sandalphon was panting.

“N-no,” Aziraphale replied, near too afraid to gasp for the air he needed. His chest heaved, but he kept his lips shut and sucked a breath through his nose, instead.

Sandalphon would be no slow and gentle lover, not like Crowley. Crowley would have taken his time, even if he’d hurt Aziraphale. Oh, Aziraphale could imagine it, if Crowley had accidentally used his claws. He would apologize so profusely they both might have ended in tears and made up for it in such a way with his tongue. Aziraphale wouldn’t have been able to stay mad, but the thought did nothing to calm him. Nothing to soothe the heavy beat of his heart when Sandalphon reached down to wrench his thighs apart.

Pregnancy had left Aziraphale with exhaustion, and he hadn’t even the strength to fight when Sandalphon spread his legs. He protested, weakly, and tried to roll away. But there was nothing to be done. Nothing at all until there was an incessant touch of fingers right up against his cunt. In response, Aziraphale yelped and tried to pull himself away. His hips moved on their own, seeking the same. Sandalphon just smiled.

“Eager little thing aren’t you, pet?” he sneered.

Those fingers trailed down through Aziraphale’s folds, searching out his hole—and finding nothing. Nothing but a thick, waxy thing that had hardened where it was left. A mating plug—Crowley’s mating plug, exactly where Aziraphale had begged he leave one. Sandalphon fingers trailed down further, until he found the same type of thing nestled up between Aziraphale’s cheeks. Sandalphon wrenched his hand back in _disgust_.

“You really let that _thing_ do this to you—?”

And there was no time to say anything else. There was a shout, words Aziraphale couldn’t make out, and Sandalphon was suddenly being thrown back to the floor. Tears filled Aziraphale’s vision before he could even register what happened, and just beyond them, all he knew was _Gabriel_—Gabriel, Gabriel, Gabriel—Gabriel had _come_ for him. Gabriel was right there, ripping Sandalphon away from him and jeopardizing everything he’d worked so hard for. He would never be Head Priest. He may not even be an Arch Priest for much longer, not with the way he screamed.

“Away with you!” Gabriel shouted. “You commit sacrilege beyond sacrilege! And what’s more—you’re vile! Don’t you touch him!” And that sounded like Gabriel. He hadn’t been able to hold onto some fake priesthood righteousness for long, not when Aziraphale was the subject.

After that, the shouting, Gabriel didn’t wait for the door to sound shut before he had whirled around and all but thrown himself onto the bed with Aziraphale. Only then did Aziraphale realize just how hard he was crying, but nothing else really mattered. Gabriel had hiked the covers back up, not even bothering to fix Aziraphale’s clothes in his haste to ensure he was covered. Aziraphale took care of that himself, moments before he collapsed over into Gabriel’s chest, fingers gripping into his robes like it was all that would keep him in that moment, grounded. Where he wouldn’t think about what had just happened—that _somehow_, Crowley had still been able to prevent what would have been inevitable.

There were fingers in his hair, then, and a soothing stroke down his back as Gabriel held him just where he was. Aziraphale’s ear was pressed right up into his heart, and Gabriel had his arms wrapped around him so tightly that anyone else would have begged him to let go. Aziraphale wanted to be held tightly, tighter. Anything that would make him feel safe, and Gabriel certainly felt _safe_. Not as safe as Crowley, but Crowley was a god. With the snap of his fingers, he would have smote Sandalphon where he stood. Gabriel had no such options, and still, he was safe.

“I’ve got you,” Gabriel mumbled. “I’ve got you.”

“Send me back,” Aziraphale sobbed out. “Please—send me back!”

“To the Snake God? Aziraphale—”

“No! Crowley never hurt me!” Aziraphale suddenly had more energy than he’d had in weeks. “He never did a thing I didn’t ask for! Oh, he was positively wonderful—I must be returned to him, please!” Aziraphale shouted.

There was no chance for Gabriel to respond. Not when his first instinct was to hold Aziraphale impossibly tighter, when the rumbling started. The ground beneath them seemed to shake and writhe in anger, taking the temple with it. Nothing crumbled, but pots were shaken from their shelves and shattered on the floor. The damage in the village could be possibly more, but Gabriel hadn’t a thought in his mind for the village. Not a thought in his mind at all until the trembling stopped, what seemed a year later. Only a few minutes had passed, but it was enough that Aziraphale could feel the way Gabriel’s fingers trembled when he cupped his face.

“A-Are you alright?” Gabriel asked, voice just as shaken from the rest of him. “Aziraphale, please, tell me you’re alright.”

“I’m fine,” Aziraphale assured. He wrapped his fingers around Gabriel’s wrists and took a shuddering breath. “I’m fine, please.”

Thoughts flowed through Gabriel’s head faster than he could grab them, and it left him sputtering for something to say. It had been an earthquake, gone as fast as it arrived, and the timing hadn’t seemed at all coincidental. Then of course there were the questions—who was Crowley? Was that truly the holy name of their Snake God? Furthermore, had this Crowley _really_ not hurt Aziraphale? How would he explain the bruises? The bite marks? Had all of those things truly not hurt? Gabriel couldn’t gather himself fast enough and ended up letting his hands fall to the bed.

Aziraphale had certainly gone and straightened himself up. The robe was closed all the way to his neck, but Gabriel could still see the stark black mark around Aziraphale’s neck like a snake’s possession. On top of that, Aziraphale even looked tanner, where his skin had always been a sickly white. His eyes had more light to them, a light that even Sandalphon wouldn’t be able to kill. Wherever Aziraphale had gone, whatever he had done: it had made him happy. It had done wonders for him, really, and even for the suddenness of everything, there was a glow about Aziraphale’s skin that wreaked of his pregnancy. His joy.

“He really did take care of you,” Gabriel said. Not a question, like his mind screamed for, but an observation of fact. He could see it written over Aziraphale’s face.

“He loves me,” Aziraphale agreed. “I love him, too. Please, Gabriel. You must find a way to send me home—”

“I can’t,” Gabriel admitted. “It’s not safe. The books read that a Sacrifice will _die_ to bear a god’s child, but if you have that child anywhere but here, it may die, too.”

“What?” Aziraphale winced.

“I don’t know the specifics but trust me. Please, Aziraphale,” Gabriel reached out and rested his hands on Aziraphale’s shoulders. A gentle touch. “It’s best for you here, and your baby. I’ll _protect_ you. I won’t let Sandalphon do harm to you, not like that. Gods preserver me, never like that.” Gabriel shook his head and closed his eyes, quite like he meant to wipe the event from his mind, to pray it hadn’t happened.

“You can’t risk yourself—”

“I can do whatever I please, so, _please_, shut your stupid mouth, sunshine,” Gabriel sighed. “I’ll make this right.”

Aziraphale clamped his lips shut, just as he’d been told, and sat still while Gabriel wiped his eyes. When the tears were gone, Aziraphale willingly laid back down into the pillows and let Gabriel raise the blankets once more, to his neck. Gabriel was off the bed a second later, straightening out his robes and swiping his hair back into place. He didn’t look like he’d just nearly fought the Head Priest, but Aziraphale would know. He would keep it to himself, the bit of pride and happiness that had swelled in his chest, and watch Gabriel make his way towards the door.

“I need to go check on the village and the rest of the temple,” Gabriel said over his shoulder. “I swear, no harm will come to you. Or your child.”

“Gabriel—” Aziraphale tried, but Gabriel had already closed the door behind him.

Praying was never something that Aziraphale had done, had ever been taught to do. As a Sacrifice, he was supposed to be closer to the gods than all the rest. He would not only commune with one, but he would lay with one, bear one’s child. Praying had seemed a foolish thing in all comparison and was better left to the foolishness of the villagers. Still, Aziraphale closed his eyes tightly once he was alone and thought up the best thing he could for this situation. He wanted to be safe, happy, and above all else: he wanted to see his way back to Crowley. A hope cried out that he would return to Crowley _with_ a babe in arm, to present Crowley with his newborn son or daughter. All of it wrapped up in one nice, neat little package that Aziraphale prayed.

He sent his prayer directly to the Snake God, by name, to Crowley. In return, he might have sworn he felt the ring about his neck warm a bit, like an answer. Like Crowley had heard his pleas, accepted them, and sent back only regret that he couldn’t fix the situation. His only true want, as selfless as a god could be, would be that Aziraphale remained happy and healthy. Above all else: alive. With none of it seemingly anymore possible than it ever had been, Aziraphale found himself drifting back to sleep with a pleasant warmth encircled about his neck.

Gabriel could make all the promises he wanted, but the same problem arose. Even when he endeavored to ensure his schedule would be different, he still needed to eat. He needed to perform his duties. He needed to _leave_. He couldn’t sit in that room with Aziraphale all day, and even if there were some way for that to be possible, Aziraphale wouldn’t want him to. It was dreadfully boring, even for the ways they could find to pass the time. Aziraphale had told Gabriel everything, minus the intimate details, of what he’d experienced in Eden. As always, Gabriel listened intently. He asked questions. He interacted. By the end of it, oh, they were _laughing_.

Twelve years between them meant nothing, not in moments like these. When Aziraphale felt like they were closer than ever, and he was truly happy. That smile on his face didn’t disappear when Gabriel left for his midday meal, and he did ask Gabriel to bring him back something to munch on. He was sporting a child, after all, and food was more necessary now than it had ever been. Where once he might have even felt guilty about asking for food, for _eating_ the food—now, it was all he wanted.

However, it wasn’t Gabriel that brought Aziraphale back his lunch. The sight of Michael had Aziraphale seized up on his bed, eyes wide, but she barely even cast a look on him. In fact, her eyes were downcast in a near sort of _reverence_ that Aziraphale had never experienced. Once she’d set the tray down on the side table, she looked ready to bolt from the room, and it all felt strange. Aziraphale had been so used to _her_, specifically, being the one to tell him not to eat, to watch himself. And maybe now that he was heavy with size and pregnancy, she’d realized just how wrong she was. The Snake God hadn’t been deterred by his size, only more encouraged.

“Michael,” Aziraphale said, and that caught her attention before she’d walked too far away.

“It’s good you’re doing well,” she replied. Then there was a beat of silence, a stiff in her shoulders, before she sighed. “Any apology I had for you now would seem ill-fitting and in bad taste, I’m afraid.”

“How do you mean, exactly?”

“I’ve been searching through some records, some old texts. There’s not a man alive today who can still read the old words, but I have never once pretended to be a man,” and she laughed at her own, strange little joke. “In past stories, a god’s child has always come on the mark of a year.”

“A year,” Aziraphale repeated.

“A year,” Michael agreed. “It’s been six months, Aziraphale. I fear any apology I have for you now will sound too much like a regret in your passing, and I wouldn’t do you a disservice like that.”

Like he had already died, her words rung out. It left him with a shiver in his spine, but he settled back down against his pillows and folded his arms across his chest. Like they’d already signed his death records and cast him away, before he’d even had the baby. It was just the truth, he realized, but it still left a strange feeling with him. He had six months, essentially, to live. And the numbers were not exact. The baby would be born in the summer, and the cost was Aziraphale’s own life. All he could think about in that moment was if Crowley would ever get to see the baby—if he could not return to Eden.

Michael left, after that, with a smile and a subtle wave, her eyes downcast. Aziraphale was alone again, nothing but his thoughts to fill the time. He smoothed his hands down over his stomach, through the robes, and let his eyes close. If he concentrated hard enough, he could _feel_ something, there, pressing against the walls of his body. The baby, he always imagined, moving and starting to understand its surroundings. There would be no kicking, like he had heard many women marvel on about. There were touches, soft light things against the confines, but no kicking. Nothing rough. When Aziraphale closed his eyes, he imagined the reason was that his baby would be just like Crowley—a snake.

It had come from an egg, after all. Originally.

Aziraphale turned to his tray of food, then. A hearty meal, with meat and potatoes and whatever was left fresh from the harvest. The greens looked a bit wilted, but Aziraphale started with them. To top it all off, there were two rolls on the side of the tray. Freshly baked bed that smelled well of churned butter. Aziraphale had never willingly eaten food, not in his temple. He’d always been too afraid of the judgment, the eyes cast upon him. In Eden, he’d eaten freely, but it had _lacked_ something. He would never have told Crowley, but the scent and feeling of a freshly prepared meal was unattainable in the way of magic.

The smell of the rolls, the char on the meat, the crunch of the potatoes just slightly underdone—Aziraphale had never tasted anything so fantastic. Never smelled anything so sweet and perfect. He swallowed the greens quickly, and then went to grab at one of the rolls. The door opened, then, before Aziraphale could sink his teeth into it. He’d expected Gabriel’s return. He’d expected Gabriel to walk in and make some sigh about whatever it was he’d been pulled to do that had kept him so long. What he had not expected was _Sandalphon_ to walk through the door, again, and Aziraphale found himself suddenly able to eat. He put the roll back on the plate and stared.

“Hello, Aziraphale,” Sandalphon cooed.

Aziraphale nodded towards him, mouth suddenly too dry to talk.

There was a large, unsavory looking bruise on Sandalphon’s face. His eye was a bit swollen, the edge of his lip. Aziraphale could only imagine it had been from several days prior when he’d all but _attacked_ Aziraphale. If Gabriel hadn’t come in at that time, if Aziraphale hadn’t _begged_ Crowley to mate with him one last time—he could only imagine what horrid thing Sandalphon would have done to him. Now, he was suffering only minor consequences. It hadn’t even been enough to deter him, and yet, Sandalphon came no closer.

Maybe it hadn’t been enough to keep him away, but it certainly kept him at a length. Somehow, that didn’t make Aziraphale feel in better. He felt sick, knowing Sandalphon was standing there, leering at him. Sandalphon had seen him naked. He didn’t need to undress with his hands to picture Aziraphale spread out on a bed for him, like he nearly was. The food suddenly felt sour and hard, smelled of burnt ash and something rotten. The tray was set aside, and Aziraphale couldn’t tear his eyes away long enough to grab his cup of water.

“You look uncomfortable,” Sandalphon mentioned.

“I’m fine.”

“It must be so strange to be like you are. So different.” When Sandalphon walked, he just moved through the room. He came no closer. “It’s almost a bit sad, you know. Your body wants to provide for this—this _thing, _you’ll have. Yet, you won’t be alive to provide it any milk.”

Aziraphale tried to scoot further up the bed, like that would keep him safe. Every inch that he could gain.

“It must be uncomfortable. Your _tits_,” the word clicked on Sandalphon’s tongue. “So heavy with milk they’ll never share. Wouldn’t you like someone to _relieve_ that for you?”

Aziraphale just shook his head.

Sandalphon could see it, instead, the way _he_ wanted it to be. That Aziraphale had nodded for him, offered the bed space. Sandalphon would crawl into the bed with him and watch, hungrily, as Aziraphale opened his robes to reveal his swollen, heavy tits. His nipples would be red and dripping already with milk, eager to share what they had to offer. Sandalphon would settle himself between Aziraphale’s thighs, the thick of his cock pressing into the soft skin of Aziraphale’s cunt. Aziraphale would moan so prettily for him, arch his back so Sandalphon could get at his chest.

Oh, the taste of his milk would be sublime. Sandalphon would squeeze Aziraphale until the milk flowed from him, made a mess of the sheets when Sandalphon couldn’t possibly drink all of it. He would lap over Aziraphale’s nipple, massage his skin, until his cunt was dripping too. There would be no disgusting, horrid looking plugs this time. When Aziraphale cried for him, Sandalphon would sink right inside his lips and fuck him. He’d watched so, so closely as Aziraphale’s tits just leaked all over him with his pleasure.

What Sandalphon _did_ do was adjust himself right there, where Aziraphale could surely see the outline of his cock through his robes. Just so Aziraphale would _know_ what Sandalphon was thinking about. But nothing happened, nothing but the rattled fear going back and forth in Aziraphale’s skull—being stared at like that. It ended just as fast as it began, when the door opened again, and Gabriel returned. With the distance between them, there was no reason for Gabriel to suddenly lunge and cause another issue. All he did was stand there, quite disapprovingly with his arms crossed until Sandalphon left. And Sandalphon _did_ leave.

“Are you alright?” Gabriel asked. He’d noticed how little of the food was gone. In all the years Gabriel had known Aziraphale, he had never just eaten the greens off a plate and left the rest.

“I’m fine,” but it sounded quite unsure. Just a reflex. “He just said some things,” Aziraphale said, and he curled in around himself a bit tighter. The blankets were all the way up to his shoulders, his robe closed tight around his neck.

“Short of throwing him out of the temple, there’s not much more that I can do.” There was regret, there, in Gabriel’s confession. “The only reason he hasn’t done the same to me is the villagers.”

Aziraphale cracked a smile. “I always knew they would take to you best.”

“Well, your confidence is certainly well appreciated.” Gabriel took up his seat beside the bed and, once again, offered Aziraphale his tray of food. “You need to eat,” he said.

Aziraphale took the tray back up and nodded. He finally took a bite out of that roll, but the savoring was gone. He remembered, too deeply, what Sandalphon had said and the horrid thoughts that came from it. The plugs wouldn’t last forever, even if they might last longer outside of Eden. Did he really have to worry about Sandalphon, then? Would Sandalphon turn his threats into actions? He was a priest—surely, he didn’t _know_ how to do the things he talked about. Killing Aziraphale’s baby before it’d even a chance to live—that was a horrible thing to even think. Priests wouldn’t teach for that, wouldn’t go through with it.

Much less all else that Sandalphon was threatening. After all this time, his desire for Aziraphale had only _grown_. Before, it would have just been about finding his own pleasure, but now. Now, Aziraphale’s entire body had been changed. He was carrying a child—he _could _carry more. Sandalphon had more incentive than he ever had before to force his will on Aziraphale, if it meant he would trap him with a child. Even if destroying it was option, Aziraphale couldn’t fathom something so horrible. Even if it was Sandalphon’s child, he would keep it. He would raise it. He would try with all his might to love it.

But he didn’t want it to come to that. He couldn’t wait for Crowley to save him, either. Crowley was indisposed, in such a condition where he was weak and silent. Even if Aziraphale’s prayers had been acknowledged through the warmth of their bond, they hadn’t been _answered._ Crowley couldn’t do anything for him and sitting around waiting for the moment he could was not going to work. Not if there was a time limit. Aziraphale would have to mull it over, a way to fix this himself. He had no options; he had no real help. Gabriel might be willing, but what a sacrifice that would be for him to make. He’d lose everything he’d worked so hard to build, and all for Aziraphale’s strange little whim.

“I can’t stay here, Gabriel,” Aziraphale suddenly said, meal half eaten.

“I can’t send you back, we already discussed that. Even if I could do it alone, it wouldn’t be safe—”

“I know, I know,” Aziraphale urged. “But I can’t stay _here_. Sandalphon, he—” Aziraphale sucked in a tight breath. “He wants to do horrible things, Gabriel. To me. To my baby. I can’t stay here.”

Gabriel went silent, after that, a bit solemn. Aziraphale was right, and no assurance that Gabriel would be there to protect him would mean anything. It was just a matter of time until something happened in such a way that nothing would be the same again, and that was the hardest thing to swallow. They were both just as helpless as the other, and Aziraphale needed to leave.

“I can do some digging,” Gabriel said. “I can find something that will work. There must be something in the old texts.”

Aziraphale nodded. The old texts. That was a thing, for certain. Gabriel may even need help reading them, but it would be a problem all his own to sort out. Aziraphale couldn’t very well waddle down to the archives and do it himself, not without an extreme risk. He _needed_ this rest. Even if he hated it, even if it was boring. He needed _something_, and just the idea of something would do for the moment. He trusted Gabriel.

Things would carry on just like that. For weeks, Gabriel would dip in and out of the room, going about his duties. In between the visits, the duties, he would step down into the archives and do the research he promised to do. Michael had eventually agreed to help him, though the conversation had been dreadful and long. She didn’t believe what Sandalphon was doing, and Gabriel had no proof beside what he had seen. His reputation proceeded him in his soft spot for Aziraphale, but eventually, Gabriel won out. Michael helped him with the texts, and they searched for a solution to the problem. Aziraphale’s presence was the problem, and they just needed a way to find him a better place to be.

There was no way that they would be able to be rid of Sandalphon. He was as much the temple as the temple was. Even for his horrible penchant towards Aziraphale, he was a knowledgeable priest. He’d always led the village in their ritual and festival. He taught the children, he offered on his knowledge to those who sought the priesthood. The village wouldn’t accept Sandalphon’s departure any more than they would Gabriel’s forcible removal. Even if the evidence was clear as day that Sandalphon wasn’t _fit_ for his role.

And the worst of it was, that every second Gabriel spent a way was a second of free time Sandalphon had to duck into the room and just. Stare. Aziraphale had no books, nothing to do. His only option was to sit there and listen to every horrid, nasty thing that Sandalphon said. Each moment Sandalphon spent in that room, the worse the comments got. He’d figured it out quickly, that as long as he didn’t _touch_, he was free to do whatever he wanted. Gabriel wouldn’t throw punches if there was no reason to throw punches, and there was no proof on words. Even if Aziraphale had the strength to reverberate every nasty, horrid thing that Sandalphon said, there would be no _proof._

It was the end of the seventh month when Sandalphon got cocky. He hadn’t been there when the plugs had finally dissolved, and reasonably he had no reason to know. Aziraphale’s sheets were changed periodically just because it was a healthy thing to do, not for the mess the plugs had made. It was a normal thing, and Sandalphon had been so disgusted at the feel of them that he wasn’t willing to take the risk again. But he would talk, oh, he would talk for as long as he could. This time, though. He didn’t just stand off to the side and talk.

Sandalphon propped himself up in Gabriel’s chair. It had taken him less than a minute to get comfortable enough to spread his robes, and Aziraphale hadn’t been able to turn away fast enough. Sandalphon’s fat cock was right there, standing stiff between his thighs and dripping. Sandalphon had been _thinking_ about him, all the horrible things. Sandalphon didn’t think they were horrible, of course. He thought they were wonderful. The idea of Aziraphale spreading himself open for him, to take his cock inside.

“I can’t imagine how good you would feel, stretched around my cock,” Sandalphon groaned, his hand stroking. Aziraphale refused to look, but he could _hear_ Sandalphon groan. “I’d let you have it whenever you wanted, wherever. You could interrupt a ritual, if you needed. Bend down in front of me—” Sandalphon broke off in a sudden gasp, squeezing over the mushroom head of his prick. “Let me fuck you while I perform the rite. I’d make it so good for you.”

“P-please, be quiet,” Aziraphale muttered out. His mouth had gone dry again, but his water was on the stand near Sandalphon. He’d have to turn and see Sandalphon there, with his knees parted and stroking his prick to the thought of— Aziraphale didn’t want to think about it.

“You wouldn’t pass after bearing my kid,” Sandalphon continued down over the base of his cock, squeezing just enough to make his hips stutter. “I could keep you fat with them. You could have as many babies as you wanted—”

Gabriel walked in just as Sandalphon finished over his hand, his thick seed spurting far enough to stain the bed. Aziraphale tried not to flinch, tried not to meet Gabriel’s eyes. The shame had washed over both of them, and Sandalphon didn’t even bother to clean up after himself. He barely straightened his robes before he walked out, past Gabriel, where he pointedly made an effort to put his hand on Gabriel’s shoulder. The same hand he’d just finished himself with. And grin.

When the door closed, Gabriel and Aziraphale were alone. The room was stiff, the air, and Gabriel was already thinking about how fast he could get the sheets changed and Aziraphale into something more comfortable. He didn’t mention that aloud; it was too easy. Aziraphale knew those things would be done. What he didn’t know was the conclusion that Gabriel had been able to come to, with Michael’s help.

“We think we know what to do,” Gabriel said. “It’ll be risky, and it’s entirely contingent on being able to contact your Snake God.”

“Do—Are we able to do that?” Aziraphale asked.

“I don’t know. If it were summer, I would say without a problem. But it’s winter, and your Snake God will be in a weakened state. I think it’s worth a try, though. I believe with your bond,” and Gabriel pointed to Aziraphale’s neck, “you have the best chance of any of us.”

“What exactly is the plan, then?” Aziraphale winced. He was nearly afraid to know.

Gabriel explained as quickly as he could. Removing Sandalphon would cause too much of an outrage. The people didn’t know the things he did, and there was no proof to convince them, to turn them against Sandalphon. The only other option was to move Aziraphale. But that resulted in the true, surefire solution to the problem.

“Your Snake God must find a new patron city,” Gabriel said. “If we move you, he has to come with us.”

_Us._ That, particularly, frightened Aziraphale. Gabriel was coming with him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yaaaay new chapter--and you guys thought I forgot about you. No, never. This one's just a wee bit shorter, but that's fine with me, honestly. Things happen. Lots of plot, lots of nice things. Some not-so-nice things. Do enjoy, though! Already have the next one planned
> 
> Was going to end this different but someone in my server changed my mind hehe

It felt a bit like being back in Eden, but the dome had disappeared, and the garden felt more like a shadow of a garden. The vague idea in the background of what a garden might look like, but not quite the garden. And still, all the same, lying beneath a tree in the middle of it was the large black snake Aziraphale had grown to care so much about. Aziraphale was standing amid the shadow garden, and he stepped forward. The weight of his pregnancy didn’t wear him down, here, and he wasn’t tired. He could even _run_—so excited to see Crowley again. And Crowley. Crowley perked right up at the sound of his feet in the grass and would have caught him, if not for the lack of arms.

Not moments after Gabriel had told Aziraphale of his plan, another earthquake had gone off almost immediately. Aziraphale hadn’t even a moment to come down from his sudden, beating heart. Gabriel had done the same thing he’d done originally, huddled Aziraphale close to him until the tremors stopped, and then the plan had been made. Aziraphale needed to contact Crowley as fast as he could, and he had to do it right there in that bed. There was nowhere else for him to go, not where Sandalphon wouldn’t be, and they could bring anything Aziraphale thought he might need. Whereas, Aziraphale insisted he would need nothing.

The original plan had something to do with Uriel, but Uriel hadn’t a real penchant for talking with gods. They were wonderful at guess work and configuration, setting up a logical conclusion that had led them to believe Aziraphale would be a good sacrifice, but they had never spoken, truly, with the Snake God. Aziraphale would be alone. Entirely alone, sitting in the middle of his bed with his hand draped over his stomach and his eyes closed. He could feel the pulsing about of his child, and that pleasant warmth in his neck. It’d been what he focused on. And then—the garden.

The garden had just appeared. Aziraphale had ran across it, had met Crowley in his arms, and fallen down to his knees when Crowley encircled him to squeeze him tight. Crowley’s head rested right up against Aziraphale’s sternum, where he could wrap his arms around the thick of his body and really _feel_ like Crowley was there, like he was close. Maybe none of this was real, but the warmth of Crowley’s body encapsulated him. In nearly two months, there hadn’t been a moment of joy like this, not int he way Crowley could provide. Tears were flowing before Aziraphale even had a moment to notice, but he did nothing to wipe them away.

“Oh, Crowley—” Aziraphale hiccupped. “I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you so much—”

_We haven__’t much time, dove_. Crowley replied. _I can__’t hold this forever. _

Aziraphale choked back another sob and nodded. “There’s—there’s problems. Sandalphon, he keeps—trying to _touch_ me,” Aziraphale covered his mouth with his hand. “He tried to—_inside_ me, Crowley, and—”

_I__’ll destroy him_. Crowley surged up, but Aziraphale grabbed around his neck and brought him back down.

“My dear, my dear, please listen to me. Gabriel wants to take me away. Trying to turn the town against Sandalphon will take too much time, but if I leave—”

_I must leave too_. Crowley nodded. _Find a new town that will accept me as their god._

Aziraphale nodded hurried. Crowley’s full weight pressed into him again, and Aziraphale couldn’t help but squirm against him. The warmth pooled all the way down in his pelvis where his cunt responded immediately. Aziraphale felt wet, already, just having Crowley so close. And here, in this dream—this garden, not a garden, Aziraphale could have whatever he wanted. Crowley used his tail to coax Aziraphale’s knees apart, and he stayed there kneeling until Crowley’s tail had slip between his thighs so far that he could sit back on the thickness of Crowley’s body.

He could feel Crowley’s cocks beneath him, slipping between his folds. Everything _felt_ the same. His slick, the slick of Crowley’s cocks—Aziraphale reached between his thighs to take hold of one of Crowley’s cocks and stroke it, and it was the first one that he sunk down over. There was a stretch, there was a burn, but he was so anxious to have Crowley close to him again—he reached for the second one and pressed it inside him without a moment’s hesitation.

Once he’d seated himself fully, he cried out against Crowley’s head. Crowley’s scales rippled between his thighs, up against his fat lips, and sent such a rush of pleasure over Aziraphale that he hadn’t known it was possible. But his body hadn’t forgotten Crowley. His body _welcomed_ Crowley back inside him, and Aziraphale’s hips were bucking down a moment later. Rubbing himself into Crowley’s scales, over Crowley’s cocks. He didn’t have the energy to bounce, but maybe that didn’t matter so much. If he didn’t come, that would be fine—he had Crowley inside of him.

_Angel_. Crowley hissed, once they’d settled together. _I have sensed the quakes._

“The tremors—?” Aziraphale gasped. “Yes, yes, yes. They—what causes them? Do you know?”

Crowley shook his head. _Haven__’t the slightest, angel. But I think they will be your ticket to leave. Your condition won’t allow you to go far, not if you’re trying to flee._

“C-Crowley,” Aziraphale shook his hips. “You—you want them to blame the earthquakes on me?”

_Wasn__’t my first idea, no_. Crowley said, tightening his hold on Aziraphale. His tongue ran over the smooth skin of his neck, like he was ready to bite. _Might not be a bad idea. They might run you out instead. Keep you safe. Will you be alone?_

“Gabriel is—Gabriel is coming with me,” Aziraphale was struggling to keep his mind on task. Crowley’s cocks were barbed, and he hadn’t forgotten that. He had forgotten the _feeling_, the way they dragged over his walls and kept him in place. How good it felt to be used like this, to feel Crowley’s scales move against his flesh. His eyes were shut, his draw dropped open, and Crowley was nipping along at his shoulder.

_Is that the one I spoke to? The trustworthy one?_

“Yes,” Aziraphale responded with a gasp. He felt close—he was _close_. From doing nothing but rolling his hips back and forth, he was going to ruin himself over Crowley’s cocks.

_I will need time to rest, but I will find you. Wherever Gabriel takes you, I will find you._

“We don’t have much time,” Aziraphale said, a loaded comment. He was close. The garden was beginning to fade. He only had months left to live. Time was of the essence, and every moment that ticked away was a moment they didn’t have to get away. He needed to get away.

_Leave as soon as you__’re able_. Crowley told him. _I__’ll find you. I am never far from you._

Aziraphale came after that, hard enough that his whole body shook and trembled. He threw his head back and felt Crowley’s fangs sink into the skin of his neck just once. One last time. As when he opened his eyes again, Aziraphale was back in his room at the temple, sitting in an uncomfortable gush of orgasm. That comfortable, stretched feeling was back, too. He was quick to feel for it, in the lips of his cunt—the mating plug. Crowley had done something silly and frivolous, but Aziraphale couldn’t help the swell of _love_.

Crowley hadn’t even heard the story, but he must have known. He must have been able to feel the fear Aziraphale had and done all he could to prevent it, even if it was a useless assignment of what little power he had. He’d used it to make sure Aziraphale was safe. And then, Aziraphale’s fingers danced over the throbbing bite mark in his neck. That hadn’t just been a dream, his imagination. That had been real. Crowley had met him somewhere, met him long enough to leave a mark on him, to bring him to completion.

It was the assurance he needed, that he and Gabriel both needed, really, that Crowley would know where they were. They only had to leave. And they had to leave soon. Not a moment later, Aziraphale called out for Gabriel. He’d been standing just outside the door as insurance, that Sandalphon wouldn’t be able to interrupt or do anything. With what had taken place, Aziraphale wouldn’t have very well been in his own body. Sandalphon might have had a field day with it, but Gabriel had pushed aside his duties for the day to stand outside of the door and wait. When Aziraphale called, he entered. He hurried across the room quickly, to sit on the edge of the bed.

“What did he say?” Gabriel asked. “Did you contact him? Did it—”

“We have to leave,” Aziraphale cut him off. “Crowley suggested we blame the tremors on me. If we can have the town believing they’re my fault, maybe they’ll even run me out.”

“That could be dangerous,” Gabriel replied, but he nodded. That was something he could do. “We’ll start with Sandalphon,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“Two quakes aren’t enough to confirm my theory, but they’ve both happened after he’s done something to you. I wouldn’t dare suggest we test this, but I think, if I just work at it, I can convince Sandalphon that you’re doing this. He already knows you detest him.”

Aziraphale gulped. Maybe Sandalphon knew that, but he had certainly tried to convince himself differently. Somewhere in that sick, twisted head of his, Sandalphon believed Aziraphale wanted him, wanted his cock, wanted his _baby_. It might be a difficult feat to convince Sandalphon of anything else, but Gabriel seemed sure. Still, one thing remained.

“You’re coming with me,” Aziraphale stated. “You’re offering to do this for me—don’t you know what you’ll lose? You’ll never be the Arch Priest, and—”

“Aziraphale,” Gabriel said. “None of that matters. I’ll try again in the new town that we find, but it’s not my main concern. My priority here is you and this baby of yours.”

Aziraphale sucked in a deep breath and nodded. He wound his arms around his stomach, protectively, and stared down at the creases in the sheets. He had been so terrified the moment he knew Gabriel was coming with him. Not for any reason more than he was afraid of what Gabriel was giving up, and for what? Aziraphale was going to die in less than six months. He would have this baby, never know it, and never see Crowley again. Gabriel would lose everything he’d worked for and have nothing to show for it. Unless, of course, he was thinking to take care of the baby in Aziraphale’s sudden absence. Aziraphale had no idea if gods ever met their children. If Crowley would ever meet the baby growing inside of him, now.

Aziraphale wrapped his arms a little tighter. He could feel that warmth around his neck again, from the mark that wrapped tightly. It must have been Crowley’s way of reminding him just how close he was. Crowley was never far. And soon enough, he would be able to answer all of Aziraphale’s questions. Might even be able to hold him one last time, before he perished. It was a scary thought, bogged with the uncertainty. Aziraphale was just going to have to get through it, buck up, so to say.

After that, Gabriel left. He had seen the maps, and he knew just how remote they were. It would be some travel to find a place to stay, to go, and there would be no one to help them get there. He would have to do it all, on his own, and unfortunately that meant preparations were in order. He would need to not only begin preparing to convince Sandalphon that the quakes were somehow Aziraphale’s fault, but he would need to gather supplies. Food. Nothing more than he could carry; Aziraphale would be of no help. The list that prepared in his mind was of no help, either. Traveling light had never been something Gabriel was good at.

It would take days. It did take days. Gabriel hadn’t even a moment of regret when he stole from the temple’s treasury to make the purchases. Nothing so extravagant as a horse and carriage, like he might have preferred, but he was able to get his hands on a donkey. Then, there were the packs. The food he purchased from the market near the end of the week. At the beginning of the next, he purchased extra clothing, small bits of bedding, and straps to keep it all secure on the donkey.

Gabriel took count of his supplies and took count again. He eventually added in water skins and something to cook with. He hoped everything else he would be well enough to gather on the trip to the new town. If there would be a town. The nearest town was miles and miles away. It would take months just to travel, and Gabriel was sure they wouldn’t have enough time to make it. If the town already had a patron god, there would be no saving Aziraphale, then. Crowley wouldn’t be able to set up in a place with a patron god, not properly. Gabriel was sure there would be a way, but there wouldn’t be time to figure it out.

Then, of course, he had to muse just what it mattered. Aziraphale would die anyway. They were planning a safe place for him to have this baby. A safe place for the baby to grow up. The old texts mentioned next to nothing about the children of gods and what they did, where they went. How they must be cared for. Gabriel spent nights pouring over them, wrapped up in Aziraphale’s room, over his own desk. Nothing anywhere would act as a guide for the following months. It was all just a wild guess. Gabriel had never heard of any way to save a Sacrifice, not when they had gotten this far.

Might it have been fruitless after all, then. And maybe not so much. Gabriel did still believe, fully, that it was of noble cause to give Aziraphale a peaceful end. It would be unfair of him to stay in this village until the child was born, not with the threat of Sandalphon looming. Who was to say what would happen after Aziraphale perished? Gabriel made a concerted effort not to think too long on what horrid things Sandalphon might think to try. If he wouldn’t stop at Aziraphale’s body, maybe his affections would turn towards a _child_. An infant, no doubt. If Gabriel were to suffer the consequence afterward, removal from his post, no one would be able to protect that child save its father—Crowley. And gods could not tread upon the land, according to the texts.

It was another tremor that roused Gabriel from his reading. He’d been standing off to the side of the main prayer room, just after providing the evening’s service for those villagers who came with their offerings. The villagers were nothing of not diligent in their worship of Crowley, and only more with the coming of the cold months. Gabriel had taken up the texts and leaned into the walls to take a quick glance before he returned to Aziraphale’s room for the final check of the night, and he regretted his change in routine almost immediately. The tremor.

Sacred texts were dropped to the floor in Gabriel’s haste, the age of them, the holiness—all of it be damned. Nothing compared to the sudden thoughts that flooded through his mind. He hadn’t _wanted_ this theory to be tested, because it meant Sandalphon would be there. And what horrid thing had Sandalphon done this time? Gabriel hadn’t begun to spread the rumor; he’d wanted to be in full ownership of all the knowledge he could be. Sandalphon would ask questions. But now, Sandalphon wouldn’t _get_ to ask questions.

This tremor was particularly strong, and Gabriel nearly stumbled over his own feet in his way to the room. He made it, barely able to get the door open. In hindsight, waiting would have been a safer option. Once the door opened, the sudden shake of the temple threw him into the wall, and he cracked his head into the stone. Even through the sudden dizziness that struck him, Gabriel pushed himself back up and moved into the room. Thankful, he was, to see that Sandalphon and Aziraphale, both, were fully dressed. But it was a small miracle for the price of Sandalphon being anywhere near Aziraphale, and the cup did not go unnoticed.

“Away from him!” Gabriel shouted, reaching out to take Sandalphon by the shoulders and wrench him back. “Do you not see what you cause?!” he shouted.

“Get your hands off of me or I’ll have you flogged!” Sandalphon replied, but Gabriel won out in his attempts to create distance. Sandalphon caught himself on the wall in the next tremor, and Gabriel fell back into the bed. Beneath his hand, his rear where he sat, he could feel the substance spilled.

“You are causing these tremors!” Gabriel pulled himself back to his feet. “Each time you deign to touch a god’s Sacrifice, the quakes start a new! Have you not seen the damage they cause?!”

Gabriel wasn’t lying, either. This may have been only the third, but the second had toppled a house. One of their very own had perished in the time it took to unearth his body. Sandalphon knew this just as much as the rest of them, for he had led the farewell service. And still, he dared to lay a hand on Aziraphale.

“You would dare lay blame on me?” Sandalphon challenged.

“On Aziraphale!” Gabriel corrected. “Don’t you see that he causes these? The Snake God must have granted him power while he was away, and he can’t control it. He puts the people in _danger!_”

Sandalphon straightened, after that. Knowing he was not to blame placated the situation immediately. In response, the tremor ended a moment later. The threat was gone, with Gabriel between them. Aziraphale had scooted to the far end of the bed, the blankets pulled high around his neck, and Sandalphon was still braced against the wall, in fear for what may happen next.

“You just want him for yourself,” Sandalphon sneered. “You truly expect me to believe that Aziraphale would cause these because of me? Don’t you see how much he _wants_ this?!”

When Sandalphon took nothing short of a step forward, a fourth quake wracked the ground. Sandalphon fell in the sudden surge, and Gabriel did as well. He gripped into the side of the bed in attempts to keep near it, when things began to fall from the shelves. There was a crash, a crumble, somewhere outside. And only when the boom ended did the quake still. Sandalphon had been brought to the ground, and he had not dared to try and stand. He stared forward at Aziraphale, at Gabriel, and the space between them. All three of them sat in fear of what they’d just heard.

“I’m—” Aziraphale squeaked, but his voice failed him. Had a building just collapsed? Had a part of the temple fallen? Had someone _died?_

“We send the Snake God the perfect Sacrifice,” Sandalphon spoke, “and it sends us back a vengeful _creature._”

Sandalphon pulled himself from the ground and fled from the room, only the swish of his robes behind him. He made quick work of the temple, which had only seen superficial damage. Things flown from the wall, pots cracked, pillars shifted. It was the town that suffered damage, and Sandalphon went out to see the truth of it. The collapsed houses, the people who ran about in panic, in terror. They had prayed and prayed for these tremors to stop; the damage they caused was all too much, and in this one, more had died. If their god was truly so vengeful, then why had the prayers not worked?

Aziraphale was to blame, and Sandalphon believed that. He would ensure the town believed it. They would be ravenous, by the time Sandalphon was finished, for justice. To see the Sacrifice pushed out of the town, and he might take his traitorous bedmate with him. Aziraphale had tempted a priest to fall away from his vows, yes. First, he had tried with Sandalphon. When Sandalphon had proved too righteous, too virtuous for his whoreish ways, he had turned to Gabriel. Gabriel had been tempted, and they had lost their favorite priest to the wiles of a god’s slut. Sandalphon would preach it, so.

While he shouted to the people, Gabriel had pulled himself off the floor. He wove around the bed as quickly as he could to get to Aziraphale, to put his hands on Aziraphale’s shoulders and steady him. Aziraphale’s entire body was positively trembling, and his eyes couldn’t quite focus. Wouldn’t quite look at Gabriel, when Gabriel sat on the bed to inspect Aziraphale, to ensure that nothing had happened. The tremor had started for a reason, and it had started _twice_ for that same reason. Yet, from the surface, Gabriel could make no sense of it.

“What happened, Aziraphale?” he asked.

“I—I don’t know,” Aziraphale admitted quickly. “Sandalphon had brought me something to drink—I didn’t ask for it. I didn’t even know what it was. The moment I smelled it; the quake started. I didn’t mean to, Gabriel, you must believe me.”

“I do, sunshine, I do. Don’t tell me you actually believe these tremors are your fault?” Gabriel looked wounded at the prospect.

Aziraphale pressed his lips tightly shut.

“Oh, sunshine. It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault.”

“But Crowley said he wasn’t causing them, either!” Aziraphale argued. “Where do they come from, then?”

Gabriel just shook his head. In truth, he didn’t know. In truth, it didn’t matter where the quakes came from or what caused them. What mattered was that Sandalphon was out preaching the villainous ways of Aziraphale, and these quakes were their ticket out. That much had been decided, and Gabriel had already made the preparations to leave. Now, it was just a matter of leaving. Crowley would already follow them, as Aziraphale had said, so it didn’t matter when they left. Where they went. All that mattered is that they left.

Soon, preferably. Gabriel had decided that immediately would be best, when he dabbed his fingers into the spilled drink. He sniffed at it, and disgust covered his face a moment later. He looked at Aziraphale, then back to the mess on the bed. He really would have preferred that Aziraphale remove himself from the bed entirely, but that might not have been possible at that moment. Aziraphale looked so terrified already that telling him he needed to get away from the mess wouldn’t help, and it was most likely just nerves. Gabriel knew about this stuff, but he had no experience with it. Rightfully so—priests weren’t supposed to dabble in this.

Abortifacients. Gabriel could smell the herbs. Sandalphon had actually tried to _kill_ Aziraphale’s baby. And so far along. They were nearing the ninth month—in three months, the baby would be born. To do something so heinous as to try and kill it now? Gabriel swallowed the bile in looked at Aziraphale.

“There are herbs that exist,” he started. “They occur naturally in the wild, and people have always taken to discovering what things can do. These herbs are known to, well,” he stiffened. “Sandalphon tried to slip you something, Aziraphale. You have to understand the urgency, here. We need to leave.”

“What did he try?” Aziraphale asked. Curiosity got the better of him; it always did.

“It’s an abortive type of herb,” Gabriel explained. Aziraphale just stared at him. Gabriel sighed. “It probably wouldn’t have worked, seeing as how your baby is half god, but Sandalphon was trying to kill it.”

Aziraphale wrenched back all at once, his eyes painfully wide. He might have been crying if not for the absolute shock that overwhelmed him. Sandalphon had said it, sure. But he’d said a lot of things. He hadn’t done a one of them, even if he had gotten off to the idea of putting his own baby in Aziraphale. His hands hadn’t been near Aziraphale until that day, when all he’d seemed to be offering was a drink. Aziraphale had reacted poorly to it, the smell of it—it had seemed wrong. And now he knew that it was meant to _kill_ his baby. He felt sick. He looked sick.

“We have to go,” Gabriel urged. Aziraphale just gave a slow nod and touched his fingers around his neck. It burned, there, in the black of his mark.

Gabriel left to gather their things while Aziraphale pulled himself out of bed to dress in something proper, for traveling. Even if every inch of his body protested the move, he had to. He had to for himself, for the baby. It wasn’t just moving to keep _him_ safe from Sandalphon, not anymore. He had to keep his baby safe, and that meant he was going to fight anything that he had to. Even his own body, that ached and creaked with every move he made. But he had to get dressed. He couldn’t wait around for someone to be able to dress him—they weren’t on that type of a timeline, anymore.

Outside, Sandalphon was continuing his preaching. Soon enough, the villagers would not just want Aziraphale gone, but they would run him out with fire and pitch forks, if they had to. Aziraphale couldn’t wait around for that. By the tie Sandalphon and the villagers returned to the temple, he and Gabriel had to be gone. Gabriel would take care of gathering the supplies, and he told Aziraphale about the donkey. Aziraphale had that time to get dressed and make his way to the back of the temple. Gabriel would be there, and they would go.

There hadn’t even been time to ask what Gabriel had secured. Aziraphale was just going to have to trust that Gabriel had a plan. A good one. One that probably included a map, food, and water. Aziraphale had kept his faith so far, beginning to doubt Gabriel at such a crucial time wasn’t going to help anyone. So, he dressed. He dressed in long robes, an off-colored weight from age. They tied around his middle with a golden rope, and over the top, he draped a long coat over himself. The sleeves were long and ragged, and the whole collection made him look larger than he was. But it covered what had turned into an obvious baby bump. A bump that, as far Aziraphale was concerned, was larger than he’d seen a woman bear in her own pregnancy.

Men weren’t often pregnant, Aziraphale knew. Hiding himself like this meant that they would be left alone by passers-by who thought something to gain from harassing a Sacrifice. It had happened before; news tended to travel quickly. Though, Aziraphale had never heard the stories. He feared the possibility of what they may contain—that people just like Sandalphon existed out there in droves, in masses, ready to hurt him if they had the chance. They would have the chance, too. It had been just long enough that the mating plugs had dissolved, once more.

This time, there would be no replacing them. The only hope now was for Aziraphale to leave and never return. He finished his dressing and made a slow, painful walk towards the door. Even from there, with how close his room had been to the front of the temple, he could hear the villagers shouting in the streets for their justice. A family had died, this time. A wife, a husband, and their two children. The thought had Aziraphale ready to give up and vomit, right where he stood. That these quakes had killed _children_, and he, being blamed, doing something only to protect his child. It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair.

Where his aching heart might have led him to the front, to apologize, the black of his mark still burned. He turned towards the back of the temple, instead, and the burn dissipated. Crowley was with him. Crowley would always be with him, guiding him along, giving him the push he needed. His kindness was admirable, but there was no sense in being kind to a people who wished you dead, and Aziraphale’s neck would soon be on a chopping block, if he didn’t hurry. Hurrying was so much a comparative thought, then, in that his version of hurrying looked a normal gait. Every bone in his body ached, and he used the wall for support, but he continued to hurry.

At the back of the temple, through a stone carved door, Gabriel was waiting. He was dressed in commoner’s clothing, a pack strapped to his back, with a donkey in hand by the rope about its harness. Just as he promised, things were ready, prepared. All he needed was Aziraphale to take his seat on the donkey’s back, and they would be off. To anyone, really, they would look a normal traveling pair. Aziraphale’s current shape might even lead people to think they were a couple, and the idea brought an idle smile to his face. The first thing to laugh at in ages.

“Let me help you,” Gabriel offered, when Aziraphale approached the donkey. “We have to hurry.”

“I know,” Aziraphale agreed.

It took a combined effort to get Aziraphale settled on the donkey, but the task was finished. Aziraphale was comfortable seated side-saddle, and Gabriel would have to walk. He didn’t seem to mind, though his pace was hurried. They had to get out of the town first, and away from it. And that all had to be done before dark, which would approach quickly. Hopefully, Gabriel’s map reading skills were as good as he believed them to be, and they could get some place covered before it was too dark to prepare a place to stay. However long their journey remained, after that, they would be able to travel a bit slower. But they would go as fast as Gabriel could take them, exhaustion be damned.

The first half an hour was taken in silence, with Gabriel’s rush. They had to keep to the forest behind the village, and that made for nothing so easy. The terrain was difficult enough, and Gabriel had never been well equipped for the outdoors. It wasn’t his lifestyle, that of a farmer or a hunter. His sandals weren’t holding up as much as he would like, and it was the first time Aziraphale had ever heard a curse leave Gabriel’s lips. He’d stepped on a particularly sharp branch that had snapped and left a rather unpleasant scrape across his shin. But, the forest could only last so long. Soon, they would be away from the village.

Once they were, Gabriel was overly relieved to see a path again. Even if they would stay to the side of it, to remain as unassuming as they could, it was still easier terrain. It was still following the map and not the weird sounds of animals. Eventually, they would leave the path again to find shelter, but there would be time for that. The sun would not go down on them here, not if Gabriel could help it. Not of the donkey could keep up.

“Do you truly think they won’t follow us?” Aziraphale asked, all at once.

“I don’t,” Gabriel replied. He didn’t sound quite as sure as he meant to, but he was, relatively speaking, sure enough.

“Do you know how long we might travel?”

“No,” came Gabriel’s sigh. “We just have to see how far we can go. As long as we don’t run into any complications, things should go rather smoothly.”

“Complications?”

“With your pregnancy, sunshine.” Gabriel laughed to himself. “Please don’t tell me you’ve forgotten you’re pregnant.”

Aziraphale’s face flushed. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it. It’s terribly difficult to forget this. I’m so dreadfully large. I’m in pain _constantly_.”

“I’m sorry. I was only joking, you know.”

Joking wasn’t something Gabriel did often, or ever, but Aziraphale smiled regardless. It meant that they were safe, or safe enough. Gabriel was relaxed enough to joke, to smile back at Aziraphale like he did when they were younger. There had never been a time where they could have been children together, not with their age difference. Still, Gabriel had dropped away all pretense of an adult when he was with Aziraphale. In the times when he brought Aziraphale out to the garden, maybe it had been under the guise of teaching, but there had been many a time where he had just wanted to take Aziraphale outside. To let him experience life as a child. Sometimes, Gabriel had even deigned to run with him.

It left Aziraphale thinking just how different his life would be if he hadn’t been raised to be a Sacrifice. He’d been told that he’d been left on the steps of the temple, that Gabriel, only a child, had found him and brought him in to the Arch Priest. But there could have been so many paths for him to take. The path he was put on had always left him ostracized from the town. They looked upon him with reverence, yes, and gave him gifts, but none of the children had been his friend. He had never had playful banter with the baker in exchange for a stale piece of yesterday’s bread. It seemed a life that he’d been denied. Simpler.

“Did you ever wish for something different?” Aziraphale asked. The sky was turning a beautiful pink in the beginnings of a sunset, and Gabriel had already begun to lead them off, away from the path. There was a cliff side that he seemed to be eying, one that they could make camp against.

“Not particularly. I’d always wanted to be a priest, even when I was young.”

“What of your parents?”

“They were alright with the idea. My father was sick, anyway, and my mother didn’t believe she’d be able to take care of me on her own. Eventually, we all agreed it was best to let me stay at the temple. They died before you ever arrived.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale muttered. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Gabriel looked over his shoulder, and even in the dimming light, Aziraphale could see his smile. “They lived full lives, and nothing was left unsaid. They cared for me and supported me.”

“I’m glad to hear it. It makes me wish I knew my parents.”

It was meant to be an off-handed comment, while Gabriel was helping him down off the donkey. Gabriel had found them a spot for the night, where the grass had cleared and there seemed enough spare sticks about to make a fire. But the comment had left Gabriel a bit off-guard, and Aziraphale nearly fell forward as a result. Gabriel did catch him and spoke nothing until he had the bedding laid out. Once Aziraphale was settled. Once the fire was started, the food Gabriel had brought set out over it, and the water shared: that was when Gabriel looked at him again. It had been nearly an hour since the comment, by then, and Gabriel had been mulling it over the whole time.

“I wish I knew more about your parents, I do,” Gabriel said. “But there was nothing. They didn’t even leave you a name—we decided on it.”

Aziraphale folded his arms around himself. In return, Gabriel told Aziraphale stories of his own parents, the ones that he remembered. There had been a story of his father pretending that a rock was his only gift for a particular celebration over a festival. Gabriel had cried for near hours before he had been gifted a perfectly new pair of leather sandals, and the whole ordeal had been quite worth it. He’d been five at the time, and the story had them both laughing.

When Gabriel was eight, there had been quite the racket going on outside their home at some odd hour in the morning. Always the curious, adventurous little lad, he’d gone out to investigate. His parents had found him some time later with his arms dangling around the thick neck of a very wild wolf, of which Gabriel had claimed was his friend. He’d even named it, something he didn’t quite remember. He insisted it was a strong, powerful name though. The wolf had been his pet for all of two hours before his mother’s crying and father’s shouting had finally enticed the beast off.

At that story, Aziraphale had both laughed and agreed with Gabriel’s parents. A wolf was no pet for anyone, let alone a child. While Gabriel still believed he’d had some connection with that wolf, he still happily laughed on about how ridiculous it had been. After that, every racket against the house—whether it be wind or rain—he’d thought was his wolf coming back to see him. He never did see it again, though, and quite believed it might be dead, for how many years had passed.

Somewhere during the third story, a rather intense one where Gabriel had gotten lost sometime during his tenth year, he stopped mid-sentence about coming face to face with the edge of a cliff as he noticed Aziraphale was well and fast asleep. Gabriel smiled at him and ensured that the rough blanket was pulled up over his shoulders. By that time, the fire was dying on its own, and they had been left alone for most of the trip. There would be no fear in going to sleep for a bit.

It was in a dream, that night, that Aziraphale saw the garden again. Not the real garden, but the shadow one he’d seen when he talked to Crowley. And there, underneath the same tree, Crowley was coiled around himself time and time again, his head resting on top of his body, with eyes closed. He was sleeping, tightly wrapped. Aziraphale even thought that he looked _cute_, peaceful. Above all else, Crowley was a magnificent looking creature. His scales shimmered like stars, really, and Aziraphale longed to run his fingers over them again.

When he reached out for Crowley, this time, he could never quite reach him. He’d approached, but there was always a space between his hands and Crowley. Always. No matter how small, he couldn’t feel the brush of those scales, the way they would move. The way Crowley’s body would ripple. His presence alone seemed enough to rouse Crowley, though, and even if there was space between them, Crowley’s eyes opened in a flash of gold, and he _breathed_.

_Aziraphale_. Crowley said.

“Crowley, I can’t—I can’t touch you.” Aziraphale looked distraught. The very idea of being so close to Crowley and yet so _far_ messed with his already frayed nerves.

_I_ _’m sorry, love. I’m running low on power. I just wanted to see you again._

“Crowley,” Aziraphale sighed. He found a pleasant place to sit in the grass, inches away from Crowley, and reached out for him again. His hand hovered a mere centimeter away, and still nothing, but Crowley seemed to rumble at the feigned touch. Like he could still _feel_ what Aziraphale meant to do, the strokes along his scales.

_I noticed you left today. Did something happen?_

“Sandalphon tried to kill our child.”

Crowley looked at him. Aziraphale could feel the anger radiating away from his body, but Crowley didn’t move. He didn’t surge up in the ways he had. He just laid there, feeling angry, tail shaking, but relatively still.

“Our baby is fine,” Aziraphale assured. “Gabriel wanted to leave immediately, after that. There was another quake, too. People—people _died_.”

_I know._ Crowley said, and his voice was stiff. _I still don__’t know where the quakes are coming from. Are you at least safe?_

Aziraphale gave a slow nod. “For the moment. We don’t really know where we’re going. How will you be able to follow?”

_I__’m always near_. Crowley assured. He rested his head back against his body and almost seemed to smile. _Wherever you go, you know I__’ll follow._

“Will I get to see you again?” Aziraphale asked. “In person, I mean. I—I miss you, terribly, dear.”

_You_ _’ll see me again, I promise. I’ll stop the world to make it happen._

Crowley sounded so sure of himself, so confident. In the end, Aziraphale knew it was just another way to calm him down, to keep him happy. Everything was so upside-down in his current state, he could understand why Crowley wouldn’t risk the truth. And still, something about the way Crowley spoke had Aziraphale just nearly believing him. Maybe there was a way he could see Crowley again. Maybe there was a way that this would end happily, wonderfully, that he might even be able to kiss Crowley. To hold him again. To see Crowley hold their child before he faded off.

Aziraphale even smiled, and when Crowley came closer like he might kiss him—snake form and all—Aziraphale even quite felt like he had.

The joy faded as fast as it had come, in the morning, when the bright sun wasn’t what woke Aziraphale, but the shouting. He heard the grumbling, the yelling, the _fighting_, and when he opened his eyes, it was because he was being wrenched up from the ground and shoved into the wall. The man was covered in head to toe, only his horridly brown eyes visible. So full of anger, of rage, and Aziraphale could barely make out what he was saying. He was gasping, kicking, trying to find _words_.

Money—money. The man was asking for money. Off behind him, Aziraphale could see where Gabriel was struggling with two other people. Bandits, Aziraphale pegged them for. They’d already ripped through the packs, stomped out the food, spilled the water. And now, Aziraphale could feel the sharp sting of something metal against his neck. Against the burning.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter!! I'm on a roll. I want to thank Shay_Moonsilk for letting me steal not only her love for Gabriel, but also her entire personage. I hate making characters sometimes, so this was very wonderful of her to let me do. That being said, this is 100% a spoiler for the chapter, so I'll just let you guys get on that, now.
> 
> Enjoy!

Aziraphale seized up, all at once. There was a knife against his throat—_a knife_. Gabriel was attempting to fight off two bandits and failing, miserably. He was bleeding from the nose, a cut on his forehead, his lip. Aziraphale hadn’t even knew he could fight, let alone fight to this extent, but he was trying. He was doing everything he could to avoid their grasp, but the moment he swung too far and turned enough to _see_ Aziraphale—it was over. He tried to lunge for the bandit that had Aziraphale, and in his sudden frenzy, he lost his footing. He lost his advantage. One of the bandits grabbed him up while the other delivered a horrifyingly powerful blow to his gut. Gabriel was down in an instant, the wind gone from his lungs.

When Gabriel dropped to his knees, the bandits were on him a second later. Ripping, tearing at his clothes. Trying to find anything he had to offer, and they came up short. Nothing. The only thing Gabriel was carrying was a stolen text, from the temple, and it was thrown down into the mud. By the time Gabriel had regained his breath, they’d already written him off as nothing more than a priest. Not the slightest bit of threat, and they were right. He didn’t have the strength to get up, not even when the knife against Aziraphale’s throat dipped down to the collar of his robes.

“He’s got nothing,” one of the bandits said, and though their face had been covered, Aziraphale heard the voice of a woman. “What about that one?”

“It’s got a lot of things,” the bandit seemed to grin. “Not even sure what it is, really. Looks like a man, got nice tits though. Looks _pregnant_.”

“Leave him alone—please!” Gabriel shouted, or tried. His voice was strained. “Please—you’ll regret it.”

“Oh, the priest wants to threaten me?” the man didn’t even turn away from Aziraphale. “I think I know exactly what this is. Didn’t think I’d ever see one.”

“What is it?” the woman bandit asked, then. The third bandit remained silent.

“Godly Sacrifice,” came the snide chuckle. “Bet it’d catch a lot on the market. Someone’s bounds to have a little fun with it before it dies.”

Aziraphale started to struggle, but there was nowhere for him to go. Nothing for him to do. He couldn’t very well run, and they were too far from any village for it to make a difference. They’d left to protect him, and in their stupid inexperience, they’d walked right into Aziraphale’s true demise. They’d take him here, maybe leave Gabriel to die, and that would be the end of it. Crowley would never find him, he would never have his baby, and everything would be over before it had really even begun. He half expected it to begin immediately, with the knife cutting away his clothes. They’d drag him away from here in chains, naked. Maybe they would use him for themselves on the trip.

Something in the air shifted, and the knife never pressed further. The bandit’s eyes suddenly went wide, and Aziraphale realized all at once that he was _frozen_. Even if it meant he couldn’t even let go of Aziraphale, he couldn’t hurt him like this, either. Behind him, his friends were not frozen. Not really. But by fear, maybe—whatever they saw, Gabriel saw it too. And the quake began a second later. The tremors shook the ground in its entirety, even if the cliff should have shattered in the sudden force of it, the only thing that shattered was the bandit. The tremors shook him away, and Aziraphale fell down into the ground with a thump. When the bandit fell back, _frozen_, his body shattered against the ground.

That’s when Aziraphale saw it too.

The bandits broke into heavy, loud shouts after their leader broke apart, but they did not get far. They couldn’t. There was nowhere to run when the ground suddenly split apart before them. One more step and the ground would swallow them whole. No human could jump that far, but it didn’t matter. Behind them was an absolutely massive serpent, with a body thick as any humans, four times as long. Angry, it was, and when it snapped out in quick succession, it made its mark. They were bitten, each once, and the venom took control quickly. Once they’d disappeared into the cavern, threat gone, the cracks in the earth closed and the tremor stopped.

Gabriel stared at the snake, and when it made no move, he pulled himself to his feet. He didn’t bother to fix his robes, because they didn’t matter. What mattered was Aziraphale, was who was shaken far worse than he would ever let himself be. He fell to his knees beside Aziraphale, who had a grip over his stomach like something was _wrong_. Gabriel put his hands around Aziraphale’s face like it might help him focus, ground him.

“Aziraphale,” he said. “Aziraphale, look at me. Are you hurt? Are you okay?”

Aziraphale couldn’t form the words, but with one, wobbling finger, he pointed towards the snake. Gabriel glanced back at it and pulled Aziraphale’s arm back down.

“It won’t hurt you—”

“No,” Aziraphale shook his head. “Please, help him—”

Gabriel realized all at once, and he scrambled back to his feet. That wasn’t just a snake, it couldn’t be. Snakes didn’t get that large, they weren’t so pristine. They didn’t move so quickly, have bites so deadly. It wasn’t just a snake—it was the Snake God. It was Crowley. And Gabriel went to his side as fast as he could, as if there was really anything he could do for a god. But he could still try. He started with just a hand down Crowley’s back, starting at the base of his head. And Crowley stirred.

“Forgive me,” Gabriel whispered. “I know it’s not proper, but Aziraphale needs you. Can you move?”

There came no response. Gabriel took that as all the response he needed, and he put his arms around the thick of Crowley’s neck, to grab him. He dragged Crowley over to the ground, beside Aziraphale. The thump Crowley made when he was dropped was almost comical, and Gabriel was beginning to wonder how Crowley could move at all, as large and heavy as he was. But, near Aziraphale, things changed. All at once, the shimmer returned to Crowley’s scales. When Aziraphale’s hand brushed over the top of his head, Crowley’s eyes opened.

_I know you_. Crowley said, but he didn’t say. Gabriel couldn’t hear him, not in the way Aziraphale could.

“Crowley—” Aziraphale bit back a sob. “Crowley, Crowley—how are you _here_? What’s going on?”

_Save you._ Crowley grumbled. _Had to save you. Had to follow you. Not my best work._

“What’s happening?” Gabriel asked. Where he might have given them space, now, he was back on his knees beside them. “Why does he look so weak?”

_Tell your human friend that he__’s nosy_. Crowley hissed.

“This is Gabriel,” Aziraphale whispered. “Please, dear, he’s only here to help.”

_Oh. Gabriel. I remember this one—_

“Crowley?” Aziraphale looked over him, then to Gabriel. Aziraphale stroked his fingers back down Crowley’s scales and watched him carefully. “Crowley, please. We can’t stay here. What’s happening?”

_Weak._ He responded, quietly. _No powers down here. Cold. Your village abandoned me—no belief._

“We—we have to go,” Aziraphale said to Gabriel. “The village has already—”

_They tore down my alter._

“Oh—!” Aziraphale gasped. “Gabriel, they’ve—! They’re killing him, and they don’t even know. Gabriel, we must do something—”

“We will,” Gabriel assured. “He saved us, and I assure you, we’ll save him. We just have to keep traveling. Can he travel?”

_Can._ Came a distant reply. Aziraphale realized now that it was a drum in the back of his head. Crowley wasn’t so much as speaking to him as he could hear Crowley’s thoughts.

They had to travel quickly. They had to prepare to leave even faster—Gabriel didn’t even bother with most of the spilled supplies. He worried more about the water and getting Aziraphale settled. The bandits had come on horses, and while that would ensure a faster trip, it was meaningless. Crowley was too big to sit on any horse, let alone rather unwieldy in his state. He would have to follow on the ground, like a true snake. Even if they did take one of the horses, it would be no quick ride. It would be a panic filled walk, really.

Gods lived on belief. Without belief, they withered and died just as fast as any human would. Faster, in some cases. Like Crowley’s case. His village had been small, and the belief had been taken quickly. Sandalphon’s preaching had been enough to not only turn the town against Aziraphale and Gabriel, but against their patron god. Crowley would suffer for it—they would never be so foolish to tear down the temple, but they would tear everything else down. The alters, the statues, the offerings would be burned. And every moment Crowley spent away from a village that believed in him was one more moment closer to death. Gabriel had, quite literally, never had so much on his shoulders. And according to the map, they were still a month away from the nearest town, traveling as fast as they could.

They didn’t have a month to get anywhere. Not with Crowley. Crowley not only slowed them down, but he cut their travel time in half. He must have known it too, the way he was struggling to keep a pace faster than he could manage. Gabriel wouldn’t say a thing about it, even if he could almost _feel_ Aziraphale’s worry about it. They had to move quickly. They had to move as quickly as Crowley could stand to go, even if it meant working himself more than he should. Closer to death, Gabriel would say. He knew that. Crowley knew it. Aziraphale didn’t need to. Aziraphale had to worry about himself.

It was three days into their travel when the snow started, and they had to stop early. Gabriel wouldn’t have, otherwise, but Aziraphale had suddenly shouted to catch his attention. Crowley had fallen behind in the snow. From the cold, from the lack of friction. It was harder for him to travel on snow, let alone the damage being this cold was causing him. Crowley was a snake, and on Earth—he was a _snake_. There was no magic keeping him warm, and his body didn’t regulate for him.

That was how they found themselves curled up in the entrance of a cave, a fire burning between them. It had taken Crowley horribly long minutes to coil his entire body around Aziraphale, to rest his head draped over Aziraphale’s shoulder, and even that hadn’t been enough. Every blanket and robe they had was draped over the two of them, all in attempts to keep Crowley warm—to keep the Snake God _alive_. It left Gabriel sitting inches away from the fire, his arms curled around himself to try and fight against the brisk of the wind, the cold. But he wouldn’t have changed it. Even if the biting wind would freeze him, it was still his duty to ensure Aziraphale would survive this. Even then, he felt responsible for Crowley, too, who hadn’t so much as blinked since they arrived.

“You need to eat, Aziraphale,” Gabriel muttered. “You need to try and keep up your strength.”

Aziraphale looked between Gabriel and the bit of food they’d managed. He wasn’t hungry, but Gabriel was right. He _did _need to eat. If not for him, for the baby. The baby would need nutrients regardless of his own personal feelings; the sight of the food made him feel ill, queasy, but he reached down to grab at the stale roll.

“Does your god eat?” Gabriel asked.

Aziraphale shook his head. “I’ve never seen him eat, anyway. Crowley?” he looked down to Crowley’s head, dangling over his shoulder, down to where the rest of his body circled Aziraphale’s.

There was no response.

Aziraphale chewed at the roll, trying not to wince at how positively distasteful it felt against his tongue. This wasn’t eating for pleasure; it was eating because he had to. There was no option with this. Still, he couldn’t help but want to eat slowly. Crowley hadn’t said anything to him. Hadn’t even so much as picked up his head or opened his eyes. There was a thumping in Aziraphale’s body that had him thinking, quickly, that something was wrong. Something was dreadfully wrong. It took all of his energy to scarf down the rest of his meal, and then he put his hands over Crowley’s head.

“Crowley,” he tried again. “Crowley, dear, please say something.”

Gabriel looked between them, his eyes going wider.

Aziraphale’s pleas grew more panicked. “Crowley! Crowley, dear, please, open your eyes—!” When Aziraphale shifted, jolted, Crowley’s head fell away from his shoulder, limp. “Crowley!” Aziraphale shouted.

Of all the people in the world, there were two left who believed in Crowley. He was already weak from the weather, even if it would warm soon. They had three months until the summer solstice, but Crowley may not even make it until then. With two people left who believed in him, in his powers, there was almost nothing stopping this sickness from taking him. A sickness many gods had suffered from. A sickness many did not willingly go through—if Crowley had stayed in Eden, this wouldn’t be happening so quickly. There, he was surrounded with his own power. Here, on Earth, he was a snake.

“Get to the back of the cave,” Gabriel said, suddenly scrambling to his feet. “I’ll move the fire. Quickly—please.”

Aziraphale didn’t have time to argue or to complain; he did just as he’d been told. Even if it was a hard, laborious move, he had to make it. He pulled Crowley’s body with him, dead weight—and Crowley didn’t _breathe_, there was no way to know what his state was, save for the way his scales had gone dull. His eyes wouldn’t open. Aziraphale tried to ignore the obvious signs until he was at the back of the cave; truthfully, he hadn’t even known how he’d done it. He hadn’t known where the strength came from, or if it had really been him who’d done the moving. Surely, it was a miracle of some kind, that he and Crowley were then at the back of the cave.

There was no way for Crowley to coil himself again, not in his state, so Aziraphale did the best that he could. He saved one cloak for himself, but the rest of it—even their bedding—was fashioned into something for Crowley. To cover him. Together, Gabriel and Aziraphale made sure he circled the fire. The blankets would do nothing for him if there was no heat, to begin with.

“What is this even going to do for him?” Aziraphale asked. “I refuse to just let him die in comfort. We have to do something!”

“We will,” Gabriel urged. He was kneeling on the cave floor, his hands on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “I can travel faster by myself,” he said. “I’ll take the horse, and I’ll find people who can help.”

“What cause would they have to believe you?!” Aziraphale didn’t realize he’d shouted until his voice echoed back, until Gabriel seemed to recoil.

“I’m a preset, sunshine,” he said, the hint of joy noticeable. “It’s my _job_ to make people believe.”

Aziraphale pressed his lips together.

“Your job, right now, is to take care of Crowley. I’ll find someone—_anyone_, okay? Just, hold on. There should be enough food to last you until I return.”

“What if you don’t return?” Aziraphale asked.

He knew the answer. If Gabriel didn’t return, Aziraphale and Crowley would die in the cave. Aziraphale wouldn’t be able to give birth on his own, and Crowley would die long before that happened. Even assuming Aziraphale didn’t starve to death, the birth would kill him. If Gabriel didn’t return, there was no hope. And that was precisely why Gabriel left the question unanswered.

Gabriel took nothing with him. Not a cloak, not a back of food, not even the water. All he had were his robes and his sandals, then the horse. He would take the horse, but it would do Aziraphale no good to have it. Aziraphale couldn’t lift himself onto it, not in his state, and it was the only thing that would ensure Gabriel wasn’t making a stupid decision by leaving without supplies. He had one shot, one chance, and he was going to take it. There would never have to be an answer to what happened if he didn’t return, because he was going to return. However long it took, he would find himself back in this cave with someone who could help them.

Aziraphale watched as Gabriel left, the kick of the snow against the horse’s hooves. He listened, stared out towards the entrance, until he could hear the horse no more. Then, and only did, did Aziraphale pull himself to where Crowley was lying and ease himself over top, until he could lay down near the fire, beside Crowley, and let his eyes fall closed. There was nothing more he could do but try to sleep the time away. There was no telling how long Gabriel would be gone, and every moment would be taken in silence. Lest he filled it himself, and he thought of that briefly.

He thought about what it was like for Crowley to hold him. Those nights they had spent in bed together where Crowley had wrapped his tail around Aziraphale’s legs, his arms around Aziraphale’s torso, and kept him close. The fleeting little touches, the kisses, the brushes. It had all been so foolishly domestic, and if Aziraphale had known he would be forced back to Earth after those six months, he would have cried for more. He would have never left Crowley’s bed—he would have fallen in love with Crowley faster, to maximize their time together. If he had known it would all lead to this, the very real possibility of death in some musty cave, he would have fought harder.

All there was to do now was wait, and it pained him. His stomach already hurt; the cave floor was the least comfortable thing he’d laid on; the child was restless inside him. His chest even ached with the swell of it, and he was terrified that his body, in its confusion, might actually start to produce milk. He would feel a helpless fool for it, and without Crowley, there wasn’t a point to any of it. Maybe the milk would have enticed Crowley, brought him closer to drink at it, to hold Aziraphale the best he could. But Crowley was dying, just the same as Aziraphale. Aziraphale wouldn’t survive long enough to nurse any child, and the whole thing left him feeling empty and foolish.

“Our child will be born live, like a human, didn’t you say?” Aziraphale started to speak. His voice left a faint echo, so he quieted. “I wonder if it will be human. Perhaps it’ll be just like you, partially snake.” Aziraphale laughed to himself, quietly. “Maybe you won’t agree, but I hope it looks like you. I hope it has your eyes, most of all. Your eyes are so beautiful, Crowley.”

There came no response. Not so much a shift.

“You said it would take from me, too. Maybe it’ll look partially like that? A mix of both of us—I think I’d like that. Golden eyes, my hair. Oh, it’d be a beautiful child.”

Still, nothing.

Aziraphale leaned against his hands and let his eyes close, once more. He’d never felt so hopeless, so useless. All he could do was lay there and _believe_ Crowley would make it. Believe that everything would be alright. Believe that, even though he was weakened, he was still a god. He was still the Snake God, and he needed Aziraphale more than ever, then. If Aziraphale wavered even for a moment, would Crowley die away completely? Those were the thoughts best left alone, to not dwell upon. Even if Aziraphale would be alone, he would not think like that.

He had, of course, until he fell asleep to not think those things. Once he did, he hoped he would stay asleep until Gabriel returned. Maybe that would be dangerous, horrible—but he wouldn’t have to face the world.

Gabriel took off quickly on the horse, stamping the back of his heel into its side so it would run. Thankfully, the wind was at their back. Wherever he was going, as long as he continued this way, it would be an easy journey. Easy enough. And it had to be quick. If he went any slower, he would risk the death of not only a god, but his only friend—at that moment, truly, he wasn’t sure which was a worse fate. A lovely addition was the threat he’d left himself in taking no supplies, bringing nothing. _He_ would be the third death; of that he was certain. It was just a matter of _finding_.

He would settle for anyone. Even other travelers, at this point. There were stories of gods starting entire civilizations on their own, it would work. He had no way to know that Crowley was that strong, but it was his job to believe. It was his job to make others believe, and he would. He would find someone just as desperate, ready to give everything they had to the chance of a god, and they would be perfectly fine. Everything would be fine. He had to keep telling himself that with every passing distance he traveled.

Time, somewhere, stopped mattering. Somewhere, Gabriel lost it. He didn’t notice when the sun fell below the horizon, no more than an annoyed spit that it was harder to see. He certainly didn’t notice that the sun _rose_, more than a pleasant hum because he _could_ see, again. When it happened twice over, the only thing Gabriel knew was the weakness in his bones. The way that the vision in front of him was starting to blur, how parched his throat was. He could barely talk for the dryness in his throat, and he thought idly that there must have been something guiding him, if he would have survived this time without food. Without water—he’d taken none. The only real water he’d had was river water, and even then, he stopped as few times as he could manage.

By the time he found the edge of the river again, it was because he’d fallen straight off the horse in his desperation to get to it. There was hardly strength in his arms to cup the water to his lips, but he tried. He gulped down the water as quickly as he could, and through the ache in his stomach from it, he could feel the hunger resurging. He was no closer to finding people, no closer to saving everything. Maybe it had been a fool’s errand. Maybe he’d been so caught up on being a hero, instead of a priest, that he forgot just how impossible his mission was. By the time he returned, for all he knew, Crowley would already be dead. Aziraphale wouldn’t be long after, provided he was still remembering to eat. And how long would the food last?

It wasn’t until he felt a heavy slap against his face that Gabriel even realized he’d closed his eyes; they’d closed themselves. He hadn’t fallen asleep, not quite. The person’s voice he heard was panicked, afraid. He must have passed out. He must have nearly fallen into the river. Or maybe he had. He felt rather damp, but he had drunk in quite a frenzied way. Nothing connected right, and he could really hardly remember a thing about it. All he knew was that voice. A high voice, worried. Shouting. She was shouting for him.

“—hey! Wake up!” her voice came. She shook Gabriel until he _did_ wake up, until he opened his eyes. She sighed immediately after. “I thought you were dead, gods.”

“I’m—”

“No, shut up,” she said, reaching behind her. “You need food and water and—”

“No, we have to go,” Gabriel pushed himself up to his knees. She had been kneeling beside him, and now, they were staring directly at each other. The sun was behind her back, and in it, she glowed. Her hair was such a long, soft blonde that it shimmered in the sun shone, and her eyes were a soft look. _She_ was soft and hidden not so well beneath her robes. They bunched around her, hugged every cinch and roll of her body. Gabriel gulped and kept a concerted effort to look at her face.

“Would you believe me if I told you I knew where a god was?” he asked.

The girl’s eyes widened. “A god?”

Gabriel gave a stern nod.

Her name was Shay. She introduced herself, and Gabriel did not. She listened to his story with every intention of believing it, and gods, she _did_ believe it. Every moment of it. From Aziraphale’s Sacrifice, to the tremors, to the fact that that god was dying in a cave, a three-day right to the south. She didn’t even _question_ Gabriel’s story, just ushered him back away from the river. Not a five-minute walk around some fallen rock revealed where she came from—a caravan. A rather lively one with carriages and covered wagons, with horses and animals, children and adults alike. A _caravan_. Of people. Gabriel’s breath caught in his throat.

Shay was short, and she was lovely. Gabriel had well and gone away with any thoughts of the like, or he thought he had. Long ago, when he’d said goodbye to Lilith, and she’d vanished, he’d thought these thoughts were gone. But there he was, staring at Shay as she gathered up a horse, one less tired, one faster. Her robes hung above her knees, and the collar dipped down enough that he could see the outline of her collarbone, the top swell of her breasts. He kept his eyes on her face and thought no more of the curve of her stomach, her hips. Her golden hair. He still hadn’t introduced himself, and he wouldn’t.

“You’ll direct me,” she said, hurried. Gabriel hurried too.

They didn’t go alone, and they brought supplies. Shay had brought enough for the lot of them: her, Gabriel, and two men. Gabriel hadn’t caught their names initially, too busy relishing in the taste of the dried meat Shay had given him. Once he had food, he could direct. He hadn’t stopped a full night since he began his ride, so he didn’t know exactly how far it would be, but he described the cave to her in the best detail that he could. The landmarks around it, the proximity to the driver.

“Oi,” one of the men shouted. He had scars on his face that looked left over from a nasty time in the sun, and his hair was a bleached color for it, “isn’t that that cave we stopped at last time?”

“No _idea_ how you remember some of these things,” Shay rolled her eyes. But she did, too. She suddenly kicked her heel into the horse’s side, and they changed direction. “Faster, this way,” she told Gabriel.

He learned the names of the men halfway through their ride. The one with scars and bad hair was called Hastur, and Shay told a funny story about how they met. Hastur had called ahead to deny the whole thing, but something about the glint in Shay’s eyes told Gabriel how correct her version was. That she had met Hastur, living alone in this cabin chopping wood. He’d been so enamored at the idea of having companionship, he’d nearly dropped his axe on his foot in his haste to join her. When he did join her, he took the axe. When he came back to the caravan, he’d met Ligur.

“Inseparable,” Shay said. Gabriel hadn’t gathered that, and when he looked back over his shoulder, the two were bickering.

Ligur was a dark man with darker eyes and short hair. Shay said she’d met him traveling with a band of traders, and they’d spend the whole night talking. Ligur came before Hastur, obviously, given the tale, but Shay didn’t seem one for the chronological order of things. She jumped around in the story, stopping every now to laugh about the prices the traders tried to charge them. Ligur had taken to Shay quickly, and he’d haggled the prices lower for her. Eventually, the price was free, as Ligur was so fed up with the attitude of his fellow traders that he’d helped Shay rob them blind and flee in the night.

“Honestly,” Shay continued, “they’re like brothers at this point. I hate them.” She was smiling. Gabriel found he liked her smile.

“Do you lead the caravan?” he asked.

Shay shook her head, and the ride continued.

The ride ended just on the rise of the third day, when they found the cave. Gabriel was the first off the horse, the one he’d been sharing with Shay. Maybe in another week, he’d have time to think more clearly about how he’d clung to her through the ride. For the present, he dashed into the cave. There was no light from the back, the fire gone, but he could _see_ Aziraphale. Sitting—alive. Very much alive, with Crowley’s head in his lap. Gabriel had never felt more relief, and he called for the others to join him while he rushed to Aziraphale’s side. Aziraphale’s skin was cold to the touch, but he smiled into Gabriel’s hand.

“I knew you’d come back,” he whispered.

“That’s—” Shay stopped steps away from them, staring forward. “You weren’t lying,” she said.

Gabriel shook his head. “We have to hurry. They won’t last much longer.”

Shay nodded. The three of them set to work, her, Ligur, and Hastur. She directed them with all the fire of a leader, but she had insisted she wasn’t one. They followed her every command, even Gabriel. Between the four of them, they got Aziraphale onto a horse, and Crowley secured. He wouldn’t get to ride a horse, but Gabriel insisted that this was better than nothing. No one had been prepared to drag a creature the size of Crowley, and he wasn’t awake enough to care how he got where they were going. And then came the final question.

“That really a god?” Hastur asked. “Thought they couldn’t walk the Earth.”

“Course he ain’t walking,” Ligur jabbed him. “Looks to me like he’d be _crawling_.” And it was just as funny as he intended. Shay and Hastur laughed, where Gabriel just raised an eyebrow.

“He’s a god,” Gabriel assured. “I’m sure, in return for your kindness, he’ll grant you anything. He just needs the power to do it.”

They believed him. They _believed_ him. Gabriel had never breathed such a heavy sigh of relief, and now there was only the journey back to the caravan. The more people who were around to see that belief, to _feel_ that belief, the better Crowley would be. Already, Gabriel could see the shimmer returning. Even if his eyes hadn’t opened, even if he wasn’t awake, yet. Things were improving. It meant he could stop worrying so much about Crowley and turn his attention elsewhere, to Aziraphale. They sat on a horse together, forcing Hastur and Ligur onto one, while Shay led them. Gabriel might have spent another moment to admire her for her work. Her everything. She’d thrown away the entirety of a week to take this chance.

But there were other things to focus on. Gabriel had his arms around Aziraphale to keep him steady on the horse.

“Make sure to eat,” Gabriel told him. It was the first thing he said.

“I have been.”

“You need to _keep_ eating—you’re eating for two.”

Aziraphale snorted. “I think I know that. I’ve only had this little condition for _almost_ nine months. Normal humans are thinking of having it by now.”

Gabriel let out a short chuckle. “How is Crowley?”

“He hasn’t spoken to me since you left, but he’s alive.” Aziraphale fingered along the black mark on his neck. “I can feel it. He wouldn’t leave me.”

Gabriel nodded. Eventually, Aziraphale relaxed so far back into Gabriel’s chest that he fell asleep, and it was the best thing for him. He’d slept on and off while they were gone, sure but nothing had cured the exhaustion. It would be a long time until his exhaustion was cured.

By the time Aziraphale woke, again, he was lying in a bed. A real bed. A realer bed than he had, anyway. It was nothing more than a cot stacked high will pillows, blankets, but it was the most wonderful thing Aziraphale had ever felt. There was a fire built up in the middle of the tent, vented through the roof, and he found that it made the whole area warm. Like a house. He was even wearing lighter robes, he felt. Off to the side of the tent, Aziraphale could see Crowley. What a massive snake he was, the space he took up all on his own, but he looked so _alive_ again. He looked like he was going to survive this. He even felt quite like he could go back to sleep.

Outside, Gabriel finally closed the door of the tent and sighed. He was wearing warmer robes than he had been—Hastur had been quite insistent that he dress in _their _robes. They were lined with fur and came with real boots, no sandals. Gabriel had never needed to wear such extravagantly warm things, but he’d also never lived outside. Maybe he would be, for a while. He had meant to go off and explore the village in his newfound freedom, knowing that Aziraphale was safe and taken care of, but the moment he turned around, Shay was there. Standing with her arms folded behind her back, her eyes downcast like she was afraid to meet Gabriel’s.

“I never got your name,” she said. She was wearing longer robes now, heavy with the same fur as Gabriel’s. She’d made the same foolish mistake he had in wearing lighter clothes to make for quicker travel, but how he’d appreciated her haste.

“Gabe—” he said, staring. Then, he sputtered. “—riel. Gabriel. My name’s Gabriel,” and he extended a hand.

“Sh—ay,” she replied, dragging out the first sound as if she hadn’t a clue what followed. They shook hands for a long, uncomfortable moment. It looked quite more like holding hands until Gabriel had sputtered and pulled his hand away. He was a priest, for the sake of the gods, there was no reason for him to be acting like a child in first love. It had been some time since he’d seen anyone whom even sparked his interest, so maybe that was the issue. That, and he wasn’t a priest. Not really.

“Shay,” Gabriel responded. “I apologize. I suppose I’m a bit tired.”

“You’ve got a few more syllables to trip over than me, heavens.” She laughed. She laughed beautifully. “What kind of a person forgets ‘Shay’?”

“I certainly won’t be.” He realized just a moment too late that he’d said that out loud, and Shay’s face scrunched up in return. Her cheeks were red, and Gabriel chose to assume it was because of the cold. He ushered her off towards the fire that was set up in the middle of the caravan for a bit of warmth. The distance between Gabriel and Aziraphale would arguably make him feel a bit better, too. He was tired. He probably should have rested.

Instead, he stood beside the fire while Shay served them both a bowl of soup, whatever it was that had been stewing away inside the large metal pot. It was comprised of carrots, potato, some type of gray looking meat, and a few vegetables that Gabriel didn’t recognize. The broth was good—the entire soup was good. They must have been able to get their hands on spices, and Gabriel was sure that was a continuation of how she’d met Ligur. Though, given how well he seemed versed in the caravan, that might have been too much of an assumption.

The caravan seemed to work like a well-oiled machine. Everyone had a task, and they all took to them in kind. Even the children, of which there were four, seemed to take to their chores with ease. Gabriel had seen caravans come by the village once or twice, but he’d never seen one so large or so well organized. He was rather impressed, especially when Shay led him to a bench. What type of a caravan carried benches around? But this caravan looked the side of a veritable village. A town, even.

Maybe it hadn’t been exact belief that had Shay help him. Maybe it had been something a bit closer to home.

“Do you know much about the gods?” Gabriel asked. When Shay shook her head, Gabriel explained. It was halfway through the explanation about a Sacrifice that he glanced down at her and realized how little she was listening. She was busy stirring in her soup, testing the flavor and making notes in her head on what she might do differently. And still, when Gabriel stopped, she looked at him immediately.

“You stopped. You were just getting to the good part.”

“You know about it already.” He was exasperated. “Why are you asking for a refresher?”

“Didn’t ask,” she corrected, “you offered. Besides, you make it all sound so good. When I learned it, it was so boring. Dreadful, really.”

“Where did you learn it?”

“My father was a priest,” she laughed. “I guess you were too. I can tell. I can smell them out.”

Gabriel blinked at her. Her father. Her _father_ was a priest. Which meant, plainly, that there were villages that had different rules. That the rules he’d followed in the village were not a universal rule of gods, like Sandalphon had said, but Sandalphon’s rule. There was no way he would ever believe those rules had been passed down from Crowley, not with the things Aziraphale had told him. Crowley didn’t just seem to want sex, but he seemed to _enjoy_ it. It wouldn’t make sense for a god who partook in it so often himself to deny it to his priests. Which led to implications about Sandalphon that Gabriel didn’t want to think of.

“He’s called the Snake God,” Gabriel decided. It was easier to change the subject than to think too long about anything Shay had said. “He’s currently without a place to stay. The village, well. They ran Aziraphale out, and by default, the Snake God followed.”

“Sounds like Aziraphale is more than just a Sacrifice. Where I come from, gods are known to take spouses.”

“What’s the point of that, though? Aziraphale will die in childbirth.”

“You’re a downer, do you know that?” Shay grinned. “The point is that, while they’re together, they’re _happier._ It’s not about ownership, it’s about partnership. I think your god took a spouse.”

Gabriel looked back towards the tent where Aziraphale was, where Crowley was recovering. He believed Shay, too. He’d spent two decades listening to Sandalphon, believing everything he’d been told. He studied Sandalphon’s teachings like they were doctrine—they were doctrine. Sandalphon had made them doctrine, and suddenly, Gabriel regretted the last twenty-one years of his life. Believing every word that lying shrew had to share with him. Teaching others. If the entire town _burned_ without a god to protect it, Gabriel wouldn’t care. Sandalphon would deserve it, and those who followed blindly did, too.

“I assure you, he’ll be safe here,” Shay continued. “You don’t have to worry for his safety. He’ll have the god’s child, and everything will be taken care of.”

“That’s what I’m concerned about. What is the use of a god and his child if they have no town?” Gabriel looked directly at Shay, and she shoved a spoonful of soup into her mouth.

“That’s not my call,” she said a moment later, without the spoon. “My uh, well.” She stiffened and turned back to the soup. “My _wife_ runs the caravan. I just do what I can.”

“Oh,” Gabriel replied. It would serve him well in irony that the first woman he’d taken such an interest in would be quite well and taken. A wife. A powerful wife, by the looks of it. Whoever she was, she ran the caravan beautifully. Gabriel would even deign to call her a Matriarch, and he smiled to himself at the thought.

“It is a really lovely community,” he said. “I would hope to meet everyone.”

“I hope so, too. We’re just waiting, at the moment. My wife and our healer went out at the beginning of the week to gather more supplies. There’s a town not too far from here. Hopefully, they’ll be back soon. Once they are, well,” and Shay gestured to the tent. “Aziraphale will get proper care.”

“You did quite a job on him, though. I was quite impressed.”

Shay did not even attempt to hide what was clearly a blush, that time. The cold wasn’t an excuse for the shade of her skin, and Gabriel stared down into his bowl. She was _married._ It’s not as though there weren’t cultures who believed in taking multiple spouses, but what a horridly presumptuous thing for Gabriel to think. He hardly knew her. He’d known for her less than a week, and already, he was thinking of asking her just what kind of culture she was used to? Unthinkable. He was a priest.

He wasn’t a priest. Not anymore. Not unless Crowley would accept him as one, and the chances of that were relatively slim. Gabriel wouldn’t put it past Crowley to cast him out for his connections to Sandalphon and the village. After what that collective had done to Crowley, Gabriel might have cast himself out, if he hadn’t had Aziraphale to look after. Now, really, he only had himself to look after. Without that obligation, would Crowley even tolerate him?

Shay suddenly stood up and shook Gabriel from his thoughts. She offered out a hand, and Gabriel gave her his nearly empty bowl of soup. The leftovers, he watched with _near_ horror as she just dumped it on the ground, but what else was she to do with it? Pouring it back in the pot seemed a bit too uncivilized for this caravan. They seemed to be his type of people, anyway, and with the bowls now empty, Gabriel followed Shay into another tent. It was the only other one as large as the one they’d left Aziraphale in, which Gabriel was now assuming to be a type of medical tent.

This tent, though, was clearly a home. There was a large bedding area off to the side, robes hanging, decorations. The fire in the middle was stoked and well enough to live on its own. There was also a basin with a looking glass, which Gabriel smiled at. It was homey. It was a beautiful thing that Shay must have found from a trader or something similar. When she looked at it, she seemed to look at like it was one of the few things she enjoyed. That was when Gabriel realized that she wasn’t looking at the mirror, but the reflection it cast. At _him_.

“Are you planning to stay a priest?” she asked.

“Only if I have a god to preach on.”

“Is the Snake God not your god, then?” she turned away from the basin, the bowls stacked beside it to dry. “Would you not preach for him?”

“I would. I would dedicate my life to the Snake God for what he’s done for Aziraphale. But I fear that he won’t live much longer, not without a town.”

“Is that not why you brought them here? I mean, okay, maybe _we_ brought you here, but why else would your leading line talk about the Snake God? It would have been just as easy to get attention by saying you had a pregnant person.” She looked both ready to snort at Gabriel’s idiocy and scold him for it. “You’re looking for a place for your god.”

“It’s not your decision, anyway, is it?”

Shay shook her head. “No, but she is my _wife_. I’m sure I have some sway here. I’d hope so, anyway.”

“A woman like yourself? I would imagine so.”

Shay frowned, but it was the type of frown where the edge of her lip twitched in an unwanted smile. She didn’t want Gabriel to know his flattery was working, and it certainly was.

“Listen,” she said. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t looking to settle down. This life is nice. It even used to be _exciting_. I ran off with her when I was eighteen—I’m twenty-three,” she explained. “It’s been nice, but I think I’d like to stay put. Having a god would make that easier. We’d be blessed, I suppose. And to be able to see our god for the moment? Think of how many people we could bring here. Gods don’t walk on the earth.”

“As Ligur said, he seems to be crawling.” Gabriel folded his arms.

“You know what I mean. This could be big. This could be huge. There’s only one explanation for how he can do this and got something to do with Aziraphale. Something about belief, I’m sure. Gods seem to run on that, anyway. None of this matters without her say-so, of course. But I think it’s a good argument. If you wanted to try her.”

“Try me for what?” a sudden voice. A sudden voice that Gabriel _recognized_.

He whirled around in his sudden shock, and he was standing face to face with Lilith. He’d recognize her anywhere—her dark skin, her long, brown hair. Those eyes like fire. Her lips, her nose. The long curve of her body. He’d fallen in love with her, once. He’d said goodbye to her for rules he knew were _lies_, now. He should have never sent her away. Should have never chosen Sandalphon over her, and now, there she was: married, the leader of a caravan, and still the most stunning woman he’d ever seen.

“Gabriel,” she said, eyes wide.

“Lilith,” came his reply.

Shay just stood there, looking between them with all the shock a woman in her position could feel. They knew each other. They’d _known_ each other, and all at once, Shay knew Gabriel, too. He was the priest who abandoned her. And Lilith had _hated_ him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does anyone even Remember Lilith from like ch1 when i explained Gabriel's tragic backstory. Hm.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM SORRY FOR THE DELAY I'VE BEEN MOVING. I got mostly unpacked over the past couple of days and it was ROUGH cuz i wanted to write so bad but i was so busy. So, here we go. Crapped this all out in one morning and im literally about to go start ch10 RIGHT NOW god bless america thank you guys so much for sticking with <33
> 
> this isn't a very crowley/aziraphale heavy chapter, but they'll be back for the next chapter! Promise

Crowley, awake, had slithered across the floor of the tent to hoist as much of his body as he could up onto Aziraphale’s cot, to lay along the inch of material not taken up, and to rest his head on Aziraphale’s chest. He’d wanted this moment of alone time, once all the people had gone, once Gabriel had finally walked away from the tent. Crowley hadn’t felt as alive as he did in some time, and this little caravan had been all it took. All it took was this belief to have him awake again, have him feeling strong. Even if the rhythm of Aziraphale’s breath threatened to send him back to sleep, Crowley was alert. Alert, watching Aziraphale, and quirking up the smallest bit of smile that any snake could.

It lasted all of a moment before Aziraphale realized the weight on his chest change. His eyes open, and understandably, there was a bit of panic. His only experience in the recent months of being touched in his sleep was _Sandalphon_. Thankfully, it was hard to mistake a monstrous black snake for anything such as a fat and horrid priest. Aziraphale’s panic died away immediately when he saw the scales—shimmering brightly again. Aziraphale couldn’t resist the sudden urge to _touch_, and his fingers made contact. Crowley felt so smooth underneath his touch, and so happy.

“Crowley, my dear,” Aziraphale nearly cooed. “Oh, I’ve missed you. You look so beautiful.”

_I feel good_. Crowley said. _Feel appreciated._

“You are,” Aziraphale laughed quietly. “Oh, you are so appreciated. And you’re back—you’re okay. I’ve never—I was so afraid, Crowley.”

_Could feel it. You were terrified._

“I tried not to be.”

Crowley bumped his head into the underside of Aziraphale’s chin. There was never any reason to be nervous; Crowley was a god. He wouldn’t die so easily. Not when he was so close to Aziraphale, to their _child_. Crowley was draped just so over Aziraphale that he could feel the child move.

_I don__’t know if it will be human or not_. Crowley said. _I heard your questions. I don__’t have answers_.

“That’s alright.” Aziraphale continued to stroke down Crowley’s back. “As long as you’re here. I was so afraid you wouldn’t be—that it would have no one to take care of it.”

_I will take care of our child. Not as well as you would, but I will. I won_ _’t abandon it._

“Thank you, Crowley.” Aziraphale’s voice broke before he realized he was near tears. The bodily changes, he blamed. Always, he blamed. He was so overwhelmed constantly, and he’d never been like this. It had to be the changes he went through, the child. Just the knowledge that Crowley would be around to father their baby was enough to send Aziraphale straight back to tears, and what a fool’s thing it was.

“Should we start thinking of names, then?” Aziraphale laughed. Crowley would have grinned, if he could. Would have done a lot more than he was, if he could. He wasn’t back in perfect shape, regardless of how he _felt_, and it was clear that Aziraphale was in no shape for certain things. However much Crowley would have loved to slot himself between Aziraphale’s thighs and spend the whole day away in idle fucking, he simply laid where he was. They talked, instead, in that same idle fashion, about names. Aziraphale had ideas, a lot of ideas. He’d been giving this more thought than Crowley would have imagined.

Crowley didn’t have many thoughts about it, so he was pleased to listen as Aziraphale spat out any name he could think of. Crowley denied some of them, thought others were okay. Some of them were just so normal that Crowley couldn’t have fathomed naming his child that—David, Jon—no. And then, the very particular thought that Aziraphale seemed to think they were having a boy. He’d only listened boy’s names so far, or names so therein used traditionally as boy’s names. It had Crowley shifting to wrap himself a bit loser, lower, around the bump in Aziraphale’s stomach. He laid his head right up on top of it, so he could still see Aziraphale, and the whole thing felt rather protective.

They might be having a girl, he thought. Crowley thought that he might _like_ having a daughter. It would be an entirely new thing to experience, really. Eve had been the only woman he’d had contact within his recent knowledge, so maybe it would be a fun challenge. Having a girl could be infinitely worse, since he hadn’t a single clue what a girl might need, but he thought he liked the idea regardless. He wouldn’t mind either, as it truly were. Whatever Aziraphale gave him, he would take care of for as long as it needed him. He’d never really considered being a father, before, but he was certainly mulling it over to the happy sound of Aziraphale’s voice. Another boy’s name.

Gabriel and Lilith had been staring at each other for all of a heavy minute before Shay finally mustered up the courage to step between them. She went to Lilith quickly, and at the sight of her, Lilith’s attention was stolen immediately. Gabriel hadn’t even the mind to be offended he was so quickly overlooked—if Shay had come to him, he would have done the same. And what a horrid thought that she might have come to him, with the way that she looked at Lilith. The way that Lilith looked at her. Gabriel folded his hands and cleared his throat, taking a step back.

Shay unhooked the clasp that kept Lilith’s cloak around her, then took the cloak from her shoulders. They were talking, quietly, while Shay brought her farther into the tent. Her cloak was set aside, and she put a hand on Shay’s shoulder while they continued. A quiet, private conversation, even with Gabriel standing idly to the side. Shay caught Lilith up on everything that had happened while she was gone. From the moment Shay had met Gabriel to where they were standing now—no detail was left unspoken.

Lilith stared at Shay, her eyes wider with every passing detail. There was a _god_ in the caravan, a monstrous snake. With him, as Shay described, was his spouse. Already nine months heavy with child, and they had nowhere to go. Shay couldn’t very well send them off in the cold, like it was. They wouldn’t last more than a day, really. She explained in depth the state that Gabriel had been in when she found him, and that had Lilith glancing over to him. It didn’t sound like the man she knew, a man who threw away everything for his own dreams. Now, he’d thrown away his dreams to live life as a disgraced priest. She was rather impressed.

Then came the true reason for it all, their arrival, the explanation. Lilith had gathered it, mostly, but she still listened intently as Shay passed along their request. The Snake God needed a place. Aziraphale needed help to birth his child. The caravan could be the perfect place for them to stay. There, Shay stopped, quite unable to voice the request that the caravan settled down. She feared just exactly what Lilith would say—she’d never wanted to be held down. It had been something about her that Shay had loved, her free spirit. There Shay was suggesting settling, and it sat strangely in her throat.

“You want our help,” Lilith said, looking directly at Gabriel.

“We need your help,” he amended. “Surely, you know how gods live.”

Lilith nodded. “They can stay. I wouldn’t send them away. The weather will get worse before spring comes, and they’ll be safest here.”

“And what of the ending? Aziraphale will have a god’s child.”

Lilith just shrugged. “We’ll figure that out when we get there. Gods don’t have children as often as the texts may have you believing, Gabriel. I don’t know what that priest told you—”

“A lot of lies,” Gabriel said, steadfast. “He spewed a lot of lies, and I believed them. I was a fool for it, and I know better now.”

Lilith didn’t say anything to that, only nodded. “I’ll send our healer to inspect—what was his name?”

“Aziraphale,” Shay supplied.

“Aziraphale. We have a midwife in training, as well. I’m sure he’ll be fine here. They’ll care for him while, well.” Lilith shrugged. They all knew what she meant—that Aziraphale would be cared for until he died. Until the only caring he would need would be a proper burial, and they would do that too. It was those things, specifically, that Gabriel tried not to think about. They left him feeling numb in all the ways he didn’t think he needed.

That was when they parted. Lilith took to herself. She wanted to disrobe, to bathe, and unwind from her journey. Shay wanted to take Gabriel out to meet the rest of the caravan. If he was agreeable to it, he’d be one of them soon enough. Maybe Lilith hadn’t expressly said so, but she also hadn’t immediately run him out. That meant, in her language alone, that he was welcome. Even if Aziraphale and Crowley somehow perished, Gabriel would still have a place here. His worth wasn’t decided on his priesthood, any longer. He felt a bit grateful for it. A bit grateful, too, for Shay’s tight grip around his arm.

He’d already met Hastur and Ligur; he thought them a rather odd pair. They always seemed to be throwing jabs at one another, even if they were midst the work. They were, currently, when Shay and Gabriel passed them. They were bent over what appeared to be a spilled pile of firewood and arguing over who had been the one to do the tipping. What mattered more so would who would be the one to pick it up, and neither of them seemed incredibly fond of that idea. Shay sent them both a disapproving look, or tried to, but Gabriel could see the twitch of a smile on her lips.

Amelia played the lute for the caravan, and Gabriel was sure that would go over well. He’d heard Aziraphale’s story of the lute: how Crowley played it so wonderfully, and how he couldn’t play a single tune. If the only entertainer in the whole caravan played a lute, the caravan must have been made for Crowley. His favorite instrument. Amelia herself was rather beautiful, too. She seemed rather kind, even if she was quiet. The four children were gathered around her, and she listened dutiful to them without so much as a strum in return, tuning her instrument.

“That’s Adam, Pepper, Wensley, and Brian,” Shay pointed to each of them. “They were travelers we picked up from a different land. Refugees, I heard.”

“Refugees?” Gabriel watched as the four of them ran off. Amelia returned to her lute, humming a tune to herself.

“They came with Adam’s parents. They said there was a horrid fire in their town, and they barely escaped with their lives. I think their god was none too happy.”

Still, the kids ran about with joy like nothing had ever gone wrong. Whatever game they were playing, Adam seemed to be in the lead. There was a certain type of glow about him that Gabriel didn’t recognize, but he didn’t dwell too far on it. Shay was leading him through the caravan. She introduced him to everyone they came across, then even took the time to describe some people they hadn’t. Her talking took them back to the tent where Aziraphale had been left, and she peeked in for just a moment. Smiled. Then looked at Gabriel.

“Your god seems to be doing alright. They’re together.”

Gabriel followed her lead to take a quick peek—he couldn’t control the smile that popped up when he saw Crowley nestled around Aziraphale.

“You’ll meet Anathema soon. She takes care of the caravan. Anything from cuts to sickness.” Shay looked proud as she spoke, her hands folded together over her chest. “She’s training one of our newest, so I hope Aziraphale is okay with some unpracticed hands.”

“I’m sure he’s in no position to be picky about the help.” Gabriel folded his arms and laughed. “Who is she training?”

A hand presented itself between Gabriel and Shay before Shay could answer, and Gabriel followed it to the person who owned it. A young woman with long, long black hair and piercing eyes hidden behind glass rims. She wore a long, patterned dress with tight, puffy sleeves. Behind her was another young woman, who’s dark hair was far curlier and eyes far more friendly.

“Anathema,” the first introduced. “Behind me is Eketra, she’s in training.”

“Training,” Gabriel repeated, then shook Anathema’s hand. Eketra, in turn, just looked at Gabriel as she and Anathema passed by and into the tent. She didn’t offer an introduction, just hurried inside after Anathema.

“She’s like that,” Shay said. “She’ll warm up to you and never stop talking, I promise.”

Gabriel was already looking forward to such a time where everyone in the caravan had warmed up to him. He’d never felt part of any community, even where the villagers had once loved him. It had been from a place of awe and respect, something befitting a proper priest. This was far better, though. He wanted to come to understand these people, to live with them—if they would let him. He daringly hoped that they would welcome him, even for his past with Lilith. So far, she hadn’t said a thing. There was always time, though. A lot of terrifyingly empty time.

Anathema talked through the entire check. First, she hadn’t paid a single mind to Crowley and his rightful god title; she’d shooed him away from her patient, muttering something under her breath about gods and their attitudes. It had taken Crowley exactly three seconds later to hiss at her, and when she just _glared_ at him, three more seconds before he decided he liked her and set himself off to the side, out of respect. With a clean workspace, she had gotten directly to work, talking through it all as Eketra hovered behind her, hands wrung together with quiet comments. She seemed a veritable sponge with every piece of information Anathema fed her—not a word had to be repeated, not a word of it jotted down.

Gabriel stood by and watched it all, even as Shay had regretfully departed. He stood to the side and watched as Anathema fretted, and then as she and Aziraphale began to just—chat. It wasn’t as if Aziraphale was particularly stupid, because he wasn’t. He was well versed in many of the academic things, as it was always said that a smart Sacrifice was a good Sacrifice. It was just that Aziraphale was awkward. He never knew how to interact with people; he’d never even been allowed to. But here, he and Anathema just spoke. Gabriel might have mistaken them for old friends.

“You can really tell the health of the child from that?” Aziraphale wondered, his eyes wide with curiosity.

“It’s more of an art,” Anathema said, “not a science. It’s usually pretty accurate.”

“Have you delivered many children, then?”

Anathema shook her head. “Just a few. For another gathering.”

“What about you?” Aziraphale turned his attention to Eketra, who jumped at the sudden question.

“Oh, no. Never. I used to perform, actually, before I joined the caravan.” She grinned down at him. “I can dance, but I’ve never delivered a baby. Does that bother you?”

“Heavens, no.” Aziraphale _laughed_. “I’ve never had a baby either. New for both of us, then.”

Eketra grinned widely. It was easier to smile about it than face the reality that a Sacrifice could never have previous experience, so to say. Aziraphale would delivery one baby and one baby only. Until then, he would have all the fun in the world. Eketra would listen closely to Anathema’s lessons, but maybe in the meantime, she would sit with Aziraphale. He seemed just as interesting for every different reason. The only downside was the exhaustion, and it wasn’t a moment after Anathema’s final question that Aziraphale looked half on his way to sleep.

It was Anathema who finally ushered everyone away, and she took just enough time to gesture to Crowley. That he could return to Aziraphale’s side; they were done. Crowley, for his size, moved relatively quickly to wind himself back around the cot, to lean his head against Aziraphale’s shoulder. Just before Aziraphale fell entirely asleep, he leaned against Crowley and smiled. The sleep came a second later, and even then—Crowley did not follow. His eyes stayed open, and he looked just at Gabriel before Gabriel left the tent.

Crowley was getting stronger with every passing _second_, it looked. Anathema’s spark had lit something in him. Eketra’s care. The music in the caravan, where Amelia now played near the cauldron on the fire. All of it wound together into the perfect recipe for Crowley to thrive, and Gabriel didn’t understand it as much as he wanted to. Maybe, just maybe, it was a last-ditch effort to protect Aziraphale. If Crowley could regain his strength by the time the baby was to be born, maybe he could save Aziraphale. It was a fool’s hope, but it was something.

It had been just under a month, and Gabriel had truly found a place in the caravan. He was spending most nights in the tent with Aziraphale, close enough that they could chat until Aziraphale fell back asleep. Afterward, Gabriel and Crowley would stare at each other. If Gabriel spoke, Crowley couldn’t answer, and eventually, Gabriel would fall asleep, as well. Gabriel had found a routine, after, where he helped Shay prepare food. He sat with Anathema and Eketra when they were with Aziraphale. On occasion, he listened to Amelia play the lute. Once, he’d even found Crowley rolling on and about, and when he heard the lute, he’d stopped.

Watching Crowley regain his strength was something awe-inspiring, Gabriel had thought. Crowley was a god, and many people just believed gods were powerful. It was that belief that kept them powerful, but how Crowley had quite literally been knocking on death’s door. Even gods died. They didn’t bleed, but they did die. Crowley wasn’t going to be one of those gods—the people in the caravan treated him just like any other member, even if he was just a giant snake.

The children found a new playground in the size of his body, and even their weight couldn’t harm him. They would crawl over him, clamber, and climb. They would laugh when Crowley hissed, they would shout with joy when Crowley picked them up. Gabriel had always watched these moments very particularly so he could tell Aziraphale about them later, while Crowley had gone off to do something else of relative importance. The first time Crowley tried human food had also been an event, and each was just a story to tell Aziraphale. Just another way to ensure him that their child would be _well_ cared for, after he was gone. Even if the words in such a manner were not spoken, as such.

It was in that same month, though, that the horrible weather was beginning to disappear. Spring was well on its way, and it was quite a beautiful thing to witness. Since Aziraphale had joined the caravan, it hadn’t moved from this spot—which meant they were well within all the areas they needed for supplies, for care. The river wasn’t more than an hour’s ride to the north, and that was where Gabriel found himself on that particular morning, on the turn beginning into month two.

He’d offered to take down the winter type clothes for their washing, and nobody had been particularly cross with his suggestion. Hastur and Ligur tended to be in charge of it, through some unknown punishment, they’d both assumed. So, when Gabriel offered, they’d quite literally thrown the baskets at him. In more proper terms, they helped him set up a horse to ride down to the river, and he had gone off without so much as a goodbye. He’d taken a lunch with him, as well as water, and then ridden away.

The hour ride had passed, and then another. Gabriel was down on his knees at the edge of the river, his own robes draped away from his shoulders and tied around his waist so he would minimize the mess he made of himself. He was focused, diligent, and Shay nearly fell off her horse before she joined him. It wasn’t the first time they’d gone off together somewhere, though it was the first time Shay had just followed him. He hadn’t told anyone that he was venturing off, and it wasn’t as if she had anything particular to tell him, but she’d felt the need. Lilith had always called her impulsive.

Still, she was glad Gabriel’s back was to her when she got her foot caught, too busy staring. Gabriel’s entire body was taut in the way she hadn’t expected a priest to look. Not so much that she might mistake him for an athlete, but he was certainly fit. Shay had hoped Gabriel’s attention was a sort of interest she hadn’t experienced since the night she met Lilith, but seeing him like that, it was hard to believe he would ever take a look at her like that. Even Lilith was tall, a bit thin. Not overly thin, not with the size she had built from such an active lifestyle, but thin. Shay was not.

Shay ignored her own thoughts in turn for plopping down in the grass beside Gabriel, her knees dangling down, her height just enough that her feet dipped into the water. That was the first bit Gabriel noticed, the sudden feet. Her calves, the thick of her thighs, and then he was looking at her—eyes wide. He was too dignified to yelp, even if she had startled him, but he had that look about him. Like he would have yelped. Instead, his lips formed a half-frown, and he made a very clear look from her hips to her face.

“I didn’t realize I was to have company,” he said.

“I decided to join you,” Shay replied, grinning. “I hope that’s alright,” a sudden shift in her confidence. “I can go, if you wanted to be alone. I should have asked. This is probably inappropriate of me, anyway, and—”

“It’s fine,” Gabriel assured, but he did turn back to the washing. “Really, the company is nice. Maybe inappropriate, but nice.”

Shay chewed into her bottom lip. _She _knew why it was inappropriate, but did Gabriel? Or was he just agreeing with her for the sake of agreeing. Shay had always known that having such a connection with their caravan’s leader made her something. It put her in a type of power she hadn’t exactly asked for, but one she’d tried to do her best in. Now that Gabriel knew not just who Shay was, but who she was married to, it made entire sense that he wanted nothing to do with her. If Gabriel never wanted to speak to Shay again, she’d be upset, but she wouldn’t misunderstand. Still, the curiosity remained.

“I met Lilith what feels like a lifetime ago,” Shay said. “I found her not too far from here, actually, by the river.”

Shay’s story was something along the lines that Lilith had been a helpless beauty, and without Shay’s help, she would have fallen into the river and drowned. With nowhere to go, Shay offered Lilith a place to stay in the nearby town, where Shay had lived all her life as the priest’s daughter. Her mother had died sometime in her youth—to long ago to remember and mourn about, but Shay still remembered the condolences Lilith passed. The looks that they shared. Lilith had eventually agreed to go back to the town.

Shay’s house was empty and spacious. Her father spent most of his nights at the temple, and she never blamed him. She liked the space that it gave her, the separation. People didn’t have to look at her as the priest’s daughter if she lived on her own, and she’d found many opportunities from it. The anonymity was a powerful thing. Then, she’d learned Lilith’s story just as fast. Lilith had broken down at the table, over a bowl of stew, about how she’d just gotten on her horse and ran from the little village she’d grown up in. She’d had exactly one thing keeping her there, and he’d abandoned her.

“That’s you,” Shay explained. Gabriel didn’t respond.

Maybe it had been a foolish decision, but it had been the start of something special. Shay had only meant to console Lilith, to hope she would stop crying. By the time she had, it was because she had Shay against the wall of her own home, hands coasting up her sides. They were pressed tightly together, lips slotted, and Lilith had made quite a show of just how much she’d appreciated Shay’s help. Her hands had been so warm, when she took Shay by the arm and asked where her room was. Shay should have said it was enough, but Lilith was everything she’d ever wanted. An adventure rolled into a beautiful, attentive woman—so, Shay said it was the first door on the left, down the hall.

Once Lilith had closed the door, their robes were off. They were against the bed, against each other, Lilith pressed between Shay’s thighs. That had been the entire night, just _basking_ in each other. Shay had never had that kind of attention, not once. The people in the village had often scoffed at her for her size, but there wasn’t a roll or crevice of her body that Lilith hadn’t worshiped. Still, in the morning, Shay had expected her to be gone. She was, somehow, impossibly closer with her arm draped over Shay’s waist. It had been at that exact moment that Shay knew whatever adventure Lilith wanted, she wanted to be there, too.

The years that passed had only been kind. Nothing had torn them apart. Not the hardships, not the arguments, not the differing opinions. They always came back together, came out stronger, and Lilith’s love had never wavered. Shay’s hadn’t either. Each day, it grew. Lilith was powerful, strong, and Shay couldn’t have it in her to regret the choices she’d made. Even if, now, she was thinking more and more about settling down with the caravan. The moving was hard one everyone. Shay enjoyed being with them, not the moving—many of them shared the same thoughts.

“Lilith must not,” Gabriel deduced, “if you’re speaking about it like this. In secret, I mean.” He set another freshly washed robe into the second basket. He’d positioned it roughly behind him, so Shay could sit close, and in his turn, he didn’t miss the press of their shoulders.

“She likes adventure,” Shay said. “She wants to be doing things, seeing places. She said she’d rather sleep under the stars than a roof.”

“She sleeps in a tent,” Gabriel snorted. Shay grinned.

“I just think that you can help us. I’m afraid of what she might think if the caravan’s opinion came out. I don’t want her to think that we’ve turned against her.”

Gabriel sighed. He moved off of his knees and draped his legs down into the river, like Shay had done. Even then, he slouched and folded his arms across his middle. “Did she tell you how we parted?”

“She said you abandoned her for your own dream, that you hadn’t paid a single mind to her wants, and she hated you for it. That’s why I’m afraid she’ll think the same of me.”

Gabriel shook her head. “Maybe my opinion counts for nothing, but I don’t think she would. This adventurous side to her is new. Once,” and he said this with a forlorn sort of smile, “all she wanted was to marry and have a family. She wanted to live and die in that village. She thought that I would be the one to do it with her.”

Shay watched Gabriel closely, the creases in his eyes when he spoke.

“I didn’t meet Lilith until we were older, but I’d been for far longer. My path was already set for me. I thought she knew that when we started meeting in the garden. We both made a mistake—and sometimes, I still think that I love her.”

“You do,” Shay said. “You still love her a lot, and I can tell.” Shay pulled her knees up close to her chest.

“Don’t make that face, please,” Gabriel pleaded, but there was a laugh in his smile. “Don’t look like I’m here to steal your happiness from you. As long as Aziraphale is taken care of, I don’t care what becomes of me. I certainly won’t try to steal anything you’ve made.”

“You sound so much less selfish than she made you out to be.”

Gabriel rubbed the back of his neck and nodded. “I’ve grown,” he said. They both had.

Shay helped Gabriel finish the washing, finish the packing, and even took a few baskets for her horse, instead. A lighter ride had been her excuse, but she’d still needed Gabriel’s help in strapping the basket on. Every accidental touch, every brush—Shay hoped that it wasn’t what she thought it was. Accidents. Gabriel not paying attention. He seemed the type of man to do everything with a purpose, no matter how foolish and stupid it was. He’d ridden for three days without food or water, in the cold, to find a way to save Aziraphale. That wasn’t the type of man who brushed his hand up a woman’s arm and expected her not to notice.

Shay just didn’t know how to connect the dots. Gabriel hardly glanced away from what he was doing, and if he did, she wasn’t looking at that time, either. All she knew were the touches, and they were so easy to chalk up to accidents. Mistakes. Like Gabriel just wasn’t used to working in such close proximity, so he didn’t notice the size of himself. Shay had watched him work with others, though, and he was never quite this close. When he offered to help her onto her horse, she just stared at him.

“What if it wasn’t stealing?” she asked.

Gabriel stared at her, and in the silence, she helped herself onto her horse and road away. What a stupid question to ask, and what a stupid thing to do: to leave Gabriel standing there. She’d clearly stunned him—she’d clearly read too much into his actions, his words. He was so _kind_, he was caring. Behind it all, there was bite to him. He had an attitude, he liked to make light of important things. He was exactly what Lilith had liked, and he was exactly what Shay _found _herself liking. It wasn’t _stealing_ if he was invited in, was it?

But what a horrid thing to think! She was happy, she was _married_. Lilith loved her. Lilith loved the caravan, and Lilith took care of all of them. There was no way that these thoughts would go over well, and Shay needed to stamp them in the ground before she lost an important friend. Gabriel was her friend, and that was a perfectly fine relationship to have, she thought. Friendships were wonderful. Friendships turned into so many things.

Hastur and Ligur were her _family_, but they’d started out as friends. She thought of them like brothers, and the three of them were a band of siblings causing trouble. It’d made her happy to think about them like that, but the same thought felt strange applied to Gabriel. It left her stomach feeling a bit sick, her mind a big clouded. Gabriel, her brother? She found quickly that she didn’t like that idea at all. If she were to grow a relationship with Gabriel, she wanted everything she could get. It was a terrifying thought, but there was nothing more to do on an hour ride but think.

She thought about how far she wanted. She wanted Gabriel in his entirety, from his eyes to his thoughts to his hands. Oh, his hands. She wanted his hands all over her. She wanted him to kiss her, to run his fingers along her skin, for him to marvel at her. Maybe he would even think she was beautiful. Maybe he’d kiss her, too, and touch his fingers over her breasts. Down her stomach. She wanted him too. She wanted to kiss him. She wanted to have her hands on his body, to feel the solid mass of him beneath her touch. She wanted to lay with him, and that was the worst part of it. Gabriel could never be more than a friend, because the next step she wanted was _lover._

That was dangerous. That was so dangerous. The whole thing was dangerous. Shay had ridden so fast back to the caravan that she’d shaved nearly fifteen minutes off the time, and she hadn’t even a mind to unpack her horse. Any other day, Hastur would have complained when she just left it for him to do, but he took one look at her face and hadn’t said a word. Shay didn’t say anything, either. She only turned on her heel and went towards her tent. _Lilith__’s_ tent. Her wife. The woman she loved. Lilith never prodded too deep.

When Shay kissed her, Lilith didn’t ask questions. She wrapped her arms around Shay’s waist and pressed her down into their mattress. It had never been particularly comfortable, just fabric stuffed with straw and feathers, but Shay had never been so happy for it. Shay had never wanted to _think_ about a thing else, than that, right there, with Lilith against her. It was better this way, and besides—Gabriel didn’t care for her. Gabriel just cared about everyone, unthinkingly, without condition. It was unfair of her to want to monopolize that or to think herself something so grand and special his care went above and beyond. Gabriel just cared. Not about her. Not like that.

Near the end of the second month, Eketra went tearing through the caravan in search for Gabriel. The longer time they spent there, the less he needed to sit at Aziraphale’s bedside. As the birth inched closer, Aziraphale slept for longer and longer periods. Sitting and watching him was a dreadful thing, and he didn’t need the attention. Eketra checked in on him, Anathema checked in on him. Everything tended to run smoothly, but now, Eketra was looking for Gabriel.

When she found him, he was sitting in the grass with one of the caravan’s people. They were going over how to weave sandals together, and even if Gabriel was horrible at it, he excepted Newton’s guidance through every step. When he saw the look on Eketra’s face, however, the sandal lesson would have to wait.

“You have to come see Aziraphale,” she said. “He’s asking for you.”

Gabriel shot off the ground immediately, sandal left behind, and he followed Eketra back to the tent. In hindsight, there was no cause for such alarm. When they both returned without their breath, Aziraphale looked rather shocked. He hadn’t meant for there to be such a rush, he just wanted to pass along his information while he was still awake. The pregnancy was taking its toll, heavily, and resting was all he could really do. When he wasn’t asleep, he was eating. He looked twice the size of any normal pregnant person, now, and he still smiled. The smiling was the important part.

“What is it?” Gabriel asked, stepping over to the bed. Crowley was curled up on his makeshift bed, watching with glowing eyes as Gabriel sat down near the cot.

“Crowley, ah,” Aziraphale looked between Crowley and Gabriel, “needed me to tell you something.”

The snort that Crowley gave indicated that he had far sharper words than Aziraphale could muster, but Gabriel was happy for the softness.

“He said he should be returning to his true form, soon. The baby will be born at the start of summer—do you remember?”

Gabriel nodded. “That’s when the Sacrifice was. It’s when Crowley is supposed to be at his strongest.”

“Because it’s the day that he shifts back,” Aziraphale explained. “He should change back sometime in the night and be his other form.”

“We don’t have a full month, then. Just a few weeks.”

“Just a few weeks,” Aziraphale agreed, and his voice was saddened. It was just a few weeks until the birth of his child. Just a few weeks until his death. It was all he could do to keep himself composed. When Crowley saw the distress, he moved across the floor to find his place on the cot, again, with Aziraphale. He nudged the end of his snout into Aziraphale’s cheek like a kiss, and Gabriel offered them nothing more than a smile. It was all he had to give, really.

Gabriel left, after that. Aziraphale needed to rest, but more than that, he needed his time with Crowley. It was coming to an end, and with each moment closer, Gabriel believed Shay was right. Crowley hadn’t taken a Sacrifice; he’d taken a spouse. He loved Aziraphale more than anything, and it wasn’t fair what was about to happen. In order for them to experience what many couples considered their finest moments—a child—they had to experience the saddest thing of all. The loss of a loved one.

The caravan had different ideas, though, when Gabriel spread the news. Anathema had folded her arms and called the whole thing stupid. Sure, Sacrifices died, but Aziraphale wouldn’t. He _couldn__’t_, and Gabriel could see the way Anathema’s voice caught in her throat. Eketra had felt rather the same; they’d both spent such an ample amount of time with him. Befriended him. He was easy to care for, easy to love, and now there was the heavy reality that he would be ripped away from all of them. Anathema and Eketra didn’t _believe_ in his death, though. Eketra hadn’t finished her stories, yet. She had at least five more performances to tell him about, in all the excruciating detail he’d wanted. Anathema had taken to teaching him about herbs, and they weren’t even halfway through her scrolls.

Hastur and Ligur laughed the idea off. Aziraphale was a brat. Even in his exhausted state, he still had bite, he still had nerve. He was simply just not going to die, and not for anything anyone did, but because he didn’t want to. He would stick around to do all the things that he’d wanted, especially once he was without the baby weight. He wanted to learn how to ride a horse, and Ligur had already promised to teach him. Hastur had promised not to laugh when he fell off, and that had been the kindest thing he’d said.

When Gabriel told Lilith, told Shay, they both just stared at him. They hadn’t said much, but their faces said enough. Nobody in the caravan wanted Aziraphale to die. Nobody wanted to face the consequences. Nobody wanted that less than Lilith, and when Gabriel left the tent, Lilith stomped to her feet and started to pace. She had her hands over her mouth, her eyes darting between anything that could keep her attention long enough. Shay watched her until she settled down and stood in the middle of the room, mouth still covered.

“They have to go,” Lilith said.

“What?” Shay pushed to her feet. “What do you mean? You can’t mean what I _think_ you mean—”

“They have to go,” Lilith repeated. “The god, the baby, and Gabriel—they have to go. We can’t—I can’t even begin to think of what it’d mean to keep them here. A caravan with a god? That’s not how this works. Crowley wouldn’t survive like that, and the baby? What in any gods’ name do we know about taking care of a demigod?”

“Lil, you’re not thinking straight. Take a deep breath, sit down, and let me get you some—”

“I’ve done too much sitting down and breathing!” She shouted. “The time now is to do something. We’ve ignored the consequences too long—they can’t _stay_. None of them can!”

“Why?” Shay asked. It was the first time she’d ever actively wanted a _reason_ for Lilith’s ramblings. It stunned Lilith to silence, and Shay had no choice but to continue. “What would be so bad about them staying? We don’t know anything about the gods, not really. This is the closest anyone has ever been to one, and Aziraphale said he’ll regain a normal form soon! Maybe he’ll be able to talk, explain things more—for all you know, he _can_ move—”

“That’s not what you want, though, is it?” Lilith sneered. “Don’t think I haven’t heard the rumors. You and the lot of you wanting to settle down, stop the caravanning.”

“We’re _tired_, Lilith—”

“You’re taking your own path, and you hadn’t even talked about it to me? Don’t you think I deserve to know if my entire caravan wants to abandon me?”

“Nobody wants to abandon you!” Shay shouted. “We just want a place to come home to. We’re _tired_, Lilith—not everyone has your stamina. Please, please, don’t misunderstand us. We want you here, with us, always, but—”

“But what? It’s still not worth talking to me about?”

“Don’t turn this around on me!” Shay demanded; her foot stomped into the dirt. “I won’t settle for it. You’re angry about something else entirely, and don’t think I can’t tell! I’ve known you too long,” Shay’s voice trailed off. Lilith had almost, all but turned away. “Lilith, please. In all these years, have I ever wavered? Have I ever wanted for anything else?”

Lilith wrung her hands together. “It’s me,” she said. “It’s my fault. I need them gone—it’s too much to have them here. It’s too painful.”

“What do you mean?” Shay asked. She dared step closer, to put her arms on Lilith’s shoulders to turn her back around. “Lilith, talk to me. I love you too deeply to see you suffer like this.”

Lilith’s hands went around Shay’s face, and she sighed. “I’ve betrayed that,” she said, quietly. “I’ve betrayed that, and I don’t know how you can even look at me like this anymore. I’m threatening to kick them out—that’s murder, isn’t it? I’d be condemning a god and his child to _death_, and I choose to send Gabriel—” Lilith stopped.

Shay didn’t say a thing, just squeezed her shoulders tighter. It was a form of comfort, of reassurance. That she would be there for Lilith, no matter what she had to say. Shay had never wavered. She _would_ never waver. She’d come to that conclusion a long time ago, no matter what her feelings were on any subject. She wanted for Lilith’s side since the first moment they met, and that hadn’t changed. It never would. Still, Lilith pulled back and wrapped her arms around herself.

“Having him here is too much for me, Shay,” Lilith muttered. For the briefest moment, Shay didn’t see the strong and powerful leader she’d come to know. She saw Lilith, a weak and trembling little girl who’d had her future ripped from her. “I—I still _love_ him, and—” her voice broke.

Shay just blinked. Lilith still loved Gabriel? Lilith loved Gabriel. Still. After all the things she’d spewed about him, the hate and the disappointment. After how much he’d hurt her, the moment they were close, the moment there was a friendship blooming again, Lilith realized just how much she still cared for him. She’d maybe expected just about anything, then, from Shay. For Shay to scream, to slap her, to shout all manners of curses. To truly abandon her and throw her out of her own caravan, make it into the town they all wanted. But Shay just blinked.

“I’m sorry,” Lilith continued. “I know how wrong of me it is, to still care about him. But he—he can’t _stay_ here. I’m afraid of what I’ll do if he’s not gone. The years made me forget just how much I loved him, and now he’s here, and—”

“Lilith,” Shay said, staring at her. She hesitated for a very long moment, unsure of just how she wanted to word this. The wrong words would turn this into a spiraling mess, she thought, and to choose carefully what she said next was the most important thing she’d ever done. She sucked in a deep breath and stepped closer, until she could put her arms on Lilith’s arms, again.

“Lilith,” Shay said, again, “I love you more than anything. You’ve been my rock since the moment I met you, and I wouldn’t take back anything we’ve done together. I’m glad you told met his, I am. And I’m not mad, not in the slightest.”

“You’re not?”

Shay shook her head. “I’ve been fighting myself for the past months over this, and it’s not too different from you. I—I love him too, I think. At the very least, I _care _about him, and I think about him, and I—” Lilith put a finger over Shay’s lips.

“Don’t,” Lilith whispered. “Don’t just say things to make me feel better. You know I can’t stand it.”

“I’m not lying,” Shay said, pulling Lilith’s hand aside. “I think about him constantly, Lilith. I can’t get him out of my mind. You must believe me.”

Lilith sucked in a deep breath. She had no reason to distrust Shay, not about something like this. This was so, dreadfully important. There was no reason for Shay to lie, so Lilith believed her. Shay had fallen in love with Gabriel, for all the same reasons that Lilith was _still_ in love with him. Gabriel was too polite to say a thing, if he felt the same, which left it in the tent, between Shay and Lilith. All Lilith had to do was shift, the subtlest of nods, and Shay fled from the tent.

It took all of a minute, and only a minute, to find Gabriel. Shay nearly tumbled straight into him, but she caught herself before she did. Caught her breath, then, before she stood up straight and looked at him. She’d never spent such a moment just to stare at his face—the dark of his hair, the stubble he’d started to sport, and his _eyes_. She’d never seen someone with purple eyes before, but his were beautiful. And staring right at her, wide, worried, like he might reach out for her if not for the inappropriateness of their situation. She had to rectify this immediately.

“Lilith still loves you,” Shay said, quickly. “She wanted you to go, because she was afraid of what she might do if you stayed—she still loves you, she wants to be with you. She thought this was such a horrid, bad thing, but then I told her that I love you too, and now—”

“Shay, Shay—” Gabriel hushed her. “Breathe, please. I could have sworn you just said you _loved_ me—?”

“I do! Gabriel,” she grabbed his hands, “I love you. She loves you. If you don’t feel the same, then just call me a fool so we can move on, but please—” he would never call her a fool, not when he’d leaned down to kiss her. His hands were in her hair, his lips on hers, his breath against her skin. Everything was just the way she’d imagined it, and when he pulled back, there was no awkwardness. No sudden regret. He’d lifted her up, his arms down around her thighs, and hoisted her up high into the air.

“I love you, too,” he said. “Maybe I’m foolish for jumping headfirst into things, but you both seem to do the same.”

Shay smiled. She smiled with all the joy and all the strength she could muster, her arms around Gabriel’s neck.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I TOLD YOU I'D DROP A DOUBLE UPDATE AND I DID BECAUSE I FEAR NO GOD
> 
> There will be a bit of sads in this chapter, but I promise, there is a happy ending. There's gonna be one more chapter, also, so don't fret too much if you didn't see exactly what you were hoping to see in this one ;)
> 
> Please enjoy! i had a blast writing this. Sexy times at the end >;3c

A sudden, horrifyingly bright light woke Gabriel from his sleep. It had been one of the many, many nights he’d spent draped along the makeshift bed Shay and Lilith had once only shared with each other. Now, things were different, and he often found himself in some position or another on the bed with the both of them. When the light woke him, it was because it shined through the slit in the tent’s door, like a burning flash of gold. He had Shay pressed into his chest, her body bare and warm against his. Behind him, he could feel Lilith’s weight against his back, where she had draped herself close, her legs wound around his.

When the light grew and died, Gabriel saw the _shadow_ that moved in the tent, and that roused him faster than any strange light had. He pulled away from the nestled warmth and felt blindly for his robes. His sudden haste, his movement, woke Lilith and Shay up a moment later, each lost in their own groggy aftermath. Lilith was notably angry when she was woken up at odd hours, and it was indeed an odd hour. The sun hadn’t even risen, but sunrise was close.

“Gabriel,” she grumbled, “what on earth are you doing?”

“Summer starts today,” he said, and that was enough to rouse Lilith and Shay up from the bed. Shay went to light a lantern, quickly, and the scramble for clothes was far less undignified than it had been. It was a moment of sorting before they each got the right clothes back, and then the rush continued.

Gabriel was the first one over to the tent, where Shay had gone to find Anathema, and Lilith had followed Gabriel close behind. When Gabriel threw back the opening to the tent, what he saw would have sent him straight to his knees, if Lilith hadn’t been there to grasp at his arm, to steady him. Crowley was—Crowley was _there_, in his true glory. With his long red hair, his golden eyes, skin that disappeared down into scales, and his tail was all strewn throughout the tent in a sad attempt to keep it out of the way. He was hovering over Aziraphale, a hand on his face, their eyes locked. But the condition didn’t go unnoticed, Aziraphale’s condition. He was sweating, breathing heavily, his eyes and unfocused glaze.

Neither Gabriel nor Lilith felt right approaching, not when Crowley and Aziraphale seemed off in their own little world. In the early light, Crowley’s skin seemed to sparkle with golden flecks, and his brows were strewn up in such a way—he wasn’t worried, not quite. He was distraught. He’d been sitting idly by watching Aziraphale’s condition _worsen_, and now what would have been the happiest moment of any couple’s lives was turning sour, quickly. All Crowley could do was hold Aziraphale’s hand, stroke his hair to the side.

“It’s so wonderful to see you, Crowley,” Aziraphale croaked out.

“I’ve been here the whole time, angel,” Crowley responded. The softness in his voice was something altogether awe-inspiring. Lilith clamped her hand over her mouth when she heard it—a god’s voice. “I promised you I’d never leave, didn’t I? That I’d find you, no matter what?”

Aziraphale nodded. “Crowley—Crowley, I—”

“I know, angel, I know.” Crowley pressed his lips into Aziraphale’s forehead. “Right now, you need to focus on you, okay? I’ll be here the whole time, doing whatever I can.”

Aziraphale gave another hurried nod, closing his eyes tight with a sudden jolt of pain. Crowley’s transformation had all but set Aziraphale straight into labor, and now every nerve, every joint in his body was on fire. It was all Crowley could do, squeeze his hand in reassurance. He pulled away, reluctantly, and turned his attention to Gabriel and Lilith. Where Lilith had never considered herself much of a believer, she still found it hard to keep Crowley’s gaze. It felt _wrong_ to look at a god, especially one she had been threatening to kick out only weeks prior. He didn’t need to know that.

“You, priest,” Crowley pointed. “You are Gabriel, are you not?”

Gabriel nodded. He didn’t _dare_ correct Crowley—he wasn’t a priest.

“Where is the healer woman—Anathema?”

“Shay went to get her,” he replied, quickly. “She should be here shortly, with her assistant.”

Crowley nodded and sunk back down. Both Lilith and Gabriel were shocked to watch as Crowley settled himself on the floor, where he could still lean over the cot and stroke through Aziraphale’s hair. Now that he could _touch_ again, Crowley didn’t want to go anywhere else. He could slink and move until his tail was out of the way, tucked off near the side of the tent, and he did, but he was going to sit there, as close to Aziraphale as he could get, and he would refuse to move. Nobody would think twice about it.

When Anathema entered the tent, Eketra trailing a step behind, neither of them even commented on Crowley’s proximity. Neither of them would ask him to move, in fact, the only thing that Anathema said was that he might prove helpful. He would give something else for Aziraphale to focus on, instead of the pain he was in. It wouldn’t be enough, but nothing would have ever been enough. It was still _something_, and it had been so long since they’d been able to be like that. In Aziraphale’s last day, he _deserved_ to have Crowley close. He needed it.

Anathema listed off everything she would need from towels to hot water to her bag of tools she’d left back in her wagon. The rush of the morning had been enough to scramble her, but now that she was settled by the cot, she realized just how much _time_ they had. Aziraphale’s labor had only just begun, and it would be a long, painful few hours—at the least. It wasn’t even worth checking on until the pain had really set in. It was better if everyone just went about their day, really, until something began to happen.

The only people who remained in the tent where Anathema and Eketra; everyone else, Anathema had shooed out without a second thought. Crowley stayed, of course, but he wasn’t exactly _people_, and it wasn’t exactly an easy task to shoo away a snake man. Aziraphale needed him, anyway, especially as the pain began to mount. Crowley stroked through his hair, squeezed his hand, and whispered absolute soft nothings to him. Crowley kissed him, whatever inch of skin he could reach, and the waiting game began.

Anathema had expectations about how this would go. There weren’t many expectations, but she did have them. She’d delivered a few babies, and rightfully so, she thought she had a rather good grasp on how it went. She explained certain things to Eketra, on the far side of the tent so Aziraphale wouldn’t be bothered by it. She went over the basics, what she understood would happen from here. Pain would be their indicator, and a lot of it would be based entirely around what Aziraphale told them. He might experience shocks of pain, and the closer they were together, the closer they were to birth.

Outside, the entire caravan had roused to the news. They were about to witness the birth of a demigod and the death of Aziraphale. All in the same day. No one was happy, exactly, but they were excited. Anxious. Antsy for something to happen. The morning ticked on, the sun rose, and they were still just waiting. Eventually, Shay had settled down to make some stew. Lilith calmed herself by assisting, but most everyone else in the caravan kept to anxious silence. To pacing. To muttering. Whatever it was that would keep them semi-busy, until the event. There wasn’t a person in the caravan who didn’t fear the event, but they all wanted it to take place.

“I’m betting the brat survives,” Ligur was the first to say, squatting down by the cauldron when came time to have the stew. It was mid-morning, by then, and the sun was maybe an hour from being it’s highest in the sky. “Seems too easy to just crap out after all this work, you know? What kind of a mum carries a baby for a year and then dies?”

“I don’t think it’s up to him,” Shay frowned. “I don’t think it’s fair to say it’s his fault, either.”

“Right,” Hastur agreed. “It’s that bastard Crowley’s fault. He the one what started this mess.”

Gabriel’s nose crinkled up. He’d been pacing behind them, and that comment alone had stopped him. He might have shouted, once, but this time—he kept quiet. He walked away, off to the side of the caravan where nobody was. They could call Crowley a bastard all they wanted; Gabriel found he didn’t much care, anymore. He was rightfully sure that Crowley didn’t, either. What bothered him was the talk of Aziraphale. All the guilt that it dripped over him. All he could do was sit there on the makeshift log bench and hold his head in his hands, like he might cover his eyes, and all this would be gone. He’d wake up in the temple and none of this had ever happened.

It was a hand on his back that brought him away from that putrid thought—he hadn’t liked a thing about that temple, about Sandalphon, or how they’d treated Aziraphale. But still, the thoughts lingered, ever unwelcome as they were. Gabriel pulled away from his hands and looked to the side, where Lilith was sitting. She took one look at him before leaning against his shoulder, resting her chin on it. Out, in the middle of the caravan, the people were gathered around and waiting for stew.

“What’s on your mind?” she asked.

Gabriel didn’t say anything, not without a bit more insistence. Lilith rubbed her hands up and down his arms, scooted closer. They’d had a long time to talk about things, to get the story straight, and to talk about their individual sides. They’d made up, shortly put. They’d admitted they both had fault, and that they were both still in love. It was easier to forget where they’d come from and start of fresh, with each other and with Shay. When she saw them, she sent off a sympathetic smile. That was when Gabriel sighed.

“I feel as though I’ve done this to him. Aziraphale suffered under the hands of the Arch Priest, at the temple, and it was my insistence that had him continue on with being Sacrificed.”

Lilith hummed and nodded. “Sandalphon? I remember him. I always thought he was a bit of a creep.”

“He was horrible, Lilith. He tried to _kill_ Aziraphale’s baby.”

Lilith grimaced.

“I just wish something could have been different. It’s so hard to focus on the positives of this. If I had found a different way, maybe none of this would have happened.”

“Would you be happy, though?” She asked. “Do you think Aziraphale would have been happy?”

There was a long moment of silence before Gabriel just shook his head. Lilith squeezed him a little tighter.

“We’re all so happy you’re here, Gabriel. _I__’m_ happy you’re here. I’m so glad for everything this has brought us. I know it’s hard to believe, but this isn’t your fault. You can see it in Aziraphale’s eyes, you know. He wanted this.”

Gabriel sucked in a deep breath and nodded. A year of joy was better than a lifetime he would have faced at the temple, and Gabriel knew that. He couldn’t reconcile with it. He couldn’t bring himself to believe that Aziraphale _dying_ was the best outcome, because it wasn’t fair.

“Maybe Ligur will be right.” Lilith shrugged. “Really, we don’t know. This hasn’t happened in such a long time, you know.”

“I know,” Gabriel said, and it was all he said.

Aziraphale gripped his fingers into Crowley’s hand so hard that he left marks behind, underneath his nails. Crowley didn’t flinch once. All he’d done was help himself onto the cot and rested Aziraphale’s head in his lap, instead. It seemed something of a comfort, however, small, but nothing would take away from the pain. Crowley had tried a short burst of power, and nothing had changed. Not even he could do away with it. It made sense, that Crowley couldn’t interfere with something so similar to his own power, but it still grated on him. He wanted Aziraphale to be comfortable, happy, and every second he spent in pain was a dreadful one.

Each time the pain crested, Aziraphale cried out, and Anathema marked something down in a moleskine book. Aziraphale was drenched in sweat, heaving for breath. Crowley ached for him and manifested a sort of cloth in his hand that he could dab along Aziraphale’s forehead. The cloth was cool, by magic, but still wasn’t quite enough for Aziraphale to relax. He squirmed, shifted, squeezed into Crowley’s skin. There were tears prickling at his eyes, and he was spreading his thighs out farther in an attempt to get more comfortable.

That caught Anathema’s attention, and she and Eketra returned to the cot. While they helped Aziraphale get into a better position, Anathema explained how this wasn’t exactly an ideal placement for having babies. But given the extreme circumstance, they were going to have to make do. Aziraphale’s robes were hiked nearly all the way up to his hips, his knees bended, thighs spread. He felt horribly exposed, but there was too much pain to care. He pressed his head into Crowley’s hips and cried out.

“You’re doing wonderfully, dove,” Crowley told him, stroking through his hair.

“It _hurts_, Crowley—” Aziraphale gasped.

“I know, I know. I’m so sorry. If there was something I could do—” a shout broke him off, from Aziraphale. His hold on Crowley’s hand doubled over, and Crowley did let out a hiss. Aziraphale didn’t let up. He squeezed as hard as he could, and he seemed to contract himself without even realizing, doubling over towards his knees like the compression would stop the pain.

“Crowley, Crowley—” Aziraphale gasped. “Crowley, _please_, I—I don’t know. I don’t know,” he cried.

“It’s alright, angel, I’m here. I’m never leaving you, I told you that.”

Aziraphale nodded, groaning out again. “I—I picked names,” he said. “I picked names while you were sleeping.”

“What are they?” Crowley asked, trying hard to keep his voice at bay.

“If it’s a boy, Gilgamesh. He—he was a great king, Crowley. He had his troubles, but in the end, he was a great king.”

Crowley nodded. “If it’s a girl, then?”

“Astraea. For the stars. Oh,” Aziraphale groaned, “do you remember the stars in Eden? It’s been so long since I’ve seen them.”

“I hung them all of you, angel,” Crowley whispered. “I’ll take you back there, when this is over, okay? You and our baby.”

Aziraphale nodded. He believed Crowley, ever foolish as he was, he _believed_ Crowley.

It was right at noon, when the sun was in the highest, that Aziraphale cried out a final time. This time, it was because he was _sure_ the child was on the way. It was now, and if it wasn’t now, he was going to _make_ it now—he couldn’t live a second longer like this, with his entire body in boiling flames. Nothing would save him from this pain, and he wanted it gone. Even if every second closer to a child was a second closer to death—Aziraphale didn’t have a mind for that, not anymore. He needed this to continue, and it would.

His cry was enough to bring the entire caravan to gather around the tent. They stayed out, but Gabriel was above them. He’d known Aziraphale since he was nothing but an infant, he _had_ to be there for this. To know him for his whole life, really, and no one told him to leave. Gabriel came right up to the side of the cot and had Aziraphale’s other hand squeezed between his. Aziraphale’s cries were painful, they were loud. Heart shattering just as much as ear shattering, but Gabriel wouldn’t abandon him now. Nothing would chase him away, and nothing would chase Crowley away. They were here, and they would _be_ here.

Gabriel had already promised Aziraphale to do whatever he needed to help take care of this baby. Crowley couldn’t stay on Earth—it was a fool’s thought. Eventually, he would have to leave. Earth was no place for a god, and that would leave the baby without a parent. Gabriel had promised to step in, no matter what sort of baby it was. A human, a snake, something strangely in between. The whole caravan would take care of this baby, and Aziraphale had been so happy to hear that.

Now, all he could do was scream and shout with his pain. He groaned with every push he was forced to make, and every push that Crowley _helped_ him make. Each one only served to stoke the fire he was in, and how much it burned. How much he _hurt_. He had to be reminded to _breathe_, for how bad it was. Through the breathing, the crying, and the pushing, Aziraphale couldn’t figure which way was up any longer. Which way was down. Only that the world was engulfed in pain, and he wanted it to end. He only wondered briefly if this was how bad a woman’s birth was, or if this was special pain for a special type of baby.

It wasn’t for what felt like an eternity later, ten minutes, that Aziraphale’s thoughts were _shattered_ by a high-pitched cry. He looked up in time to watch Crowley’s pupils go wide with a sudden_ joy_. Aziraphale had expected life to fade, after that, for things to go black. Instead, he watched as Crowley took something into his arms, a small little thing—smaller than all the babies Aziraphale had ever seen. It was covered in something nasty, but Aziraphale couldn’t seem to find it in him to care.

He watched as Crowley futzed with it, and Crowley didn’t seem to mind the mess either. Anathema had said something about letting them clean the infant first, but Crowley had insisted on having it, immediately. There was poking, prodding, and the baby seemed to only cry louder. But that’s what it was, Aziraphale realized. A baby. Crowley was holding their _baby_, and Aziraphale hadn’t quite felt the life leave him yet. He was even, then, propped up on the bend of Crowley’s tail, when Crowley lowered the baby into his arms.

“Gilgamesh, then,” Crowley said, and he smiled. Aziraphale didn’t have the strength to hold the baby, but he looked at him. Gilgamesh. A little, crying thing whose fat baby hips disappeared down into a short, stubby little tail. The underbelly was a stark red, like Crowley’s, but Gilgamesh’s scales were the most pristine, beautiful white that Aziraphale had ever seen.

“H-he’s beautiful,” Aziraphale muttered. He was barely audible over the crying, but Crowley heard him loud and clear.

Eketra took the baby, then, and wrapped him up in a towel. It quieted him enough to move away to the water, where they could clean him up and make him presentable. Maybe if they hurried, Aziraphale would get to _hold_ his child before he went off. No one knew how long it might take for Aziraphale to die, only that he would. Only that death was the inevitable conclusion.

For thirteen minutes, nothing happened. For thirteen minutes, they let themselves think that Aziraphale wasn’t going to die—and then the whole thing flared back up again. Aziraphale cried through it, pushed, screamed, and everyone was on edge. It was with both shock, awe, and horror, that Anathema presented a _second_ child. The same, screaming baby with a stubby tail instead of legs, dark black scales like Crowley’s. Anathema stared at it for a long moment before she relented and passed it off to Crowley’s waiting arms.

“Where there supposed to be two?” Anathema asked.

Crowley shook his head. “Only laid one egg,” he said. He marveled over the little thing before he poked and prodded once more. His eyes lit up all at once. “Angel, we have a girl—”

When he looked down at Aziraphale, Aziraphale’s eyes were wide, blue, and unblinking. His mouth was slightly open. His body was still. It was like the world went quiet, all at once, as Crowley stared down at Aziraphale. When Eketra came to take the second baby away, Crowley didn’t fight. In fact, his arms fell uselessly at his side, when he realized. Aziraphale was still somehow _smiling_, in his stillness. His body was still warm, when Crowley ran his fingers along his cheek. Sound disappeared. The world disappeared.

Crowley didn’t notice when they left, when it was just him in the room. Aziraphale wasn’t there, not anymore. He was just staring up, the little half smile on his parted lips, unmoving. There weren’t even tears to shed, as Crowley stared. He was frozen, petrified. Unsure, entirely, of what he was supposed to do. Strength just vanished from his body, and it was only a side-thought that he disappeared the mess against his skin before he slouched over Aziraphale. The tears started, then, and Crowley hadn’t even realized he was crying until the tears blurred his sight. He wiped furiously at his eyes, but the tears continued.

“Oh, my angel,” Crowley whispered. “Sleep well, love. I’ll—” his voice cracked. “I’ll take care of them, I promise. They’ll know everything about you.”

It was all he could do, then, to raise his hand and close Aziraphale’s eyes. After a kiss, Crowley slid himself away from the cot. He might have used magic to make Aziraphale presentable again, but he chose not to. He used a left-over cloth to wipe Aziraphale down, and he settled the robes back over him by hand. Then, another kiss, and Crowley all but fled from the tent. The eyes on him, once he’d left, where all wide and terrified. No one approached him, no one spoke, but they did all look at him. It made Crowley feel comfortable—at home, maybe.

“I’ll take care of him,” Crowley said. “He’s _my_ bride. He’ll be buried in my home.”

“Crowley—” Gabriel started, but Crowley just shook his head.

“He’s _mine_,” Crowley hissed. “Where are my children?”

“They’re being cleaned. Crowley, you need—”

“_Where_ my children?” Crowley’s voice turned dark. “You can’t take them from me, you _can__’t_—” Crowley scrubbed at his face and deflated. He caught himself in the grass, on his hands, but there was nothing anyone could do for a weeping god. It was the first day of summer, and the rain clouds poured in a second later. The rain came down hard, heavy, but nobody moved from their spot. Not even when the fire died, not even when the thunder began.

There were whispers, murmurs, but they all knew what had happened. They’d all _believed_ Aziraphale would live, even if they’d known different. Now, the disappointment mounted. Such a profound sadness that might not have hit so hard, if they’d all been prepared for it. If they’d spent less time hoping for the best and more time preparing for the future. It had been a future none of them had wanted, had even dared to think about, and least of all Crowley. He’d already seen a future where Aziraphale held their children, smiled at them. He’d already mourned for it.

Gabriel nearly collapsed into the mud, but Lilith had a hold on him. She wouldn’t let him fall, not like that. They were the first to leave, with Shay trailing behind and back to their tent. Once they were away from the world, the rest of the caravan, there were still no words to share. No strength to bother with drying, with clean clothes. They three of them just stood there, idly, in the middle of the tent, with arms wrapped around each other like that might make the world okay again. It wouldn’t be. Not for the longest time.

Eventually, everyone went back to themselves and out of the rain. It was only Crowley who remained outside, in the rain, and he hadn’t even a mind for it. It was rain of his own doing; if he had to mourn, he would make the world mourn with him. The earth itself would quake with sadness, if Crowley demanded it so. He hadn’t, but he could still feel the tremors growing before the rest. Tremors. Like the very ones that had warned Sandalphon away from Aziraphale or tried to. And they pulled Crowley out of his misery and back up to his tail, where he moved across the caravan.

When he pushed his way through the tent, a makeshift little thing where they had left the babies wrapped and clean, Anathema tried to stop him. She wasn’t anything in comparison, and he knew that—it was all that kept him from throwing her to the side in his haste to get to them. His children, his _twins_. They were the cause of it. They had caused the tremors then, and they were fixing to cause one now in their own grief. Every baby knew its mother, and these babies knew they didn’t have one.

Crowley scooped them both up, though it took some maneuvering, he held them both against his chest and tried to soothe them. With his tail against the ground, he could feel the tremor end before it ever began. And still, he couldn’t feel relieved. He sank against the ground as he held them, and Anathema watched it take place. Crowley didn’t stop until he had laid Gilgamesh and Astraea out in his tail, where he’d made them a veritable crib for the time being. It soothed them, well enough.

“They’ll be troublemakers,” Crowley muttered when Anathema approached. “I can already tell.”

“They’ve already lost a lot,” she replied. “You should rest, you know. It won’t hurt you to rest.”

Crowley shook his head, He’d coiled around tight enough that he could rest on his own tail, where he could keep an eye on the twins. Astraea looked at Crowley with his same eyes, big and golden. Gilgamesh’s were blue, and that left a bigger hole in Crowley’s heart than he wanted to admit.

Eventually, Crowley fell asleep. Nothing changed, and he didn’t dream. He just listened. He could hear the caravan beat on around him. There had been a young woman in the caravan who kept to herself and her cards; she’d had red hair and a sharp eye. He could hear her, now, dealing out in the wagon to herself. It was Ligur who was with her, and he could feel the thing that simmered on between them. Hastur liked the rain, and he sat just outside their wagon with a pint in his hand.

Across the caravan, Crowley could hear Adam’s parents shush them all down, the four children. He could hear the bad attempts to soothe; it must have been the first death in the caravan, and Crowley didn’t blame them for not knowing what to say. He heard Adam cry that it wasn’t fair, and he pressed on, instead. Amelia’s lute lay quiet beside her, where she sat beneath a tree and watched it rain. Eketra had found a place to herself, to bury into scrolls and forget about the times.

Further, then, Crowley even heard as Gabriel found comfort. As he, Shay, and Lilith found comfort in each other. Crowley was jealous of the way they could be like that, of how they could fall right into each other when they needed it most. Crowley had lost the only person he’d ever wanted to do that with, and now, he was alone. All he could do was listen to the rain, listen to the gentle cooing of his children, and hope that there was something better waiting on a far-off horizon.

His idle and false hope lasted for an hour, an hour longer. A third hour, a fourth. It lasted for five hours, until he heard something strange in the caravan. It was a rumbling of sorts, and when he opened his eyes, he saw what the people saw. A horridly bright light, a flash through the rain. Something loud, something holy. Something that roused him from his own misery until he had no choice but to go and see it. He had Gilgamesh and Astraea in his arms, and his power alone kept them free of the rain.

The people from the caravan had all gathered together, outside the tent where Aziraphale was laid. It was the source of the light. All at once, Crowley _remembered_. It came flooding back to him like a dream, a vision right before his eyes. He’d always said he hadn’t a clue how gods were born, but they were born just as they lived. With _belief_. If there was enough of it, anyone could thrive. If there was more, teetering on the edge of insanity, the world would do wonders.

When Crowley had been human, his name had been Anthony. He had lived in a large town, full of people and animals and things. His farther had been a leader, of sorts. He met with others in the town and helped to craft their laws, their rules. Crowley had been named for his father, Anthony, and he didn’t remember his mother. Nothing about her. Not so much as a name, a face, or something left behind. She’d died before he’d ever met her, and that had followed him.

Crowley had been a young adult, betrothed, and he remembered all of it now. The story he’d told Aziraphale had been a lie, his own false reality of a time he couldn’t remember. Eve hadn’t been a Sacrifice. Eve had been his betrothed. A beautiful young woman who had positively fallen in love with him, and he’d swooned at the sight of her. They were to be wed in the winter, and things had gone poorly. They’d taken a moment for themselves, out in the forest. Crowley remembered.

Crowley remembered when she fell. It was a hole, an old well. Maybe an animal’s den. Eve had fallen into it, and Crowley had done all he could think of. He’d all but thrown himself after her and just barely managed to catch. The rest was history. She climbed out on Crowley’s back, and his strength had failed him. They’d found his body at the bottom of the hole a week later, crumbled and broken from the fall. They’d taken him back to the village. They’d gathered around with an insane sort of belief that didn’t stem from any sort of reality, any real thing that was possible. And Crowley had been born in the ashes of Anthony.

Horrified by his new form, the town had cast him away. Even his father hadn’t been able to reconcile the new form, the new _powers_—Crowley was a god. Crowley had been born, and his father thought him something entirely different. He may have looked like Anthony, but he wasn’t Anthony. It was by luck and only luck that Crowley had found a new village, and Eden came after. A safe place where Crowley could hide and forget. He had forgotten.

He’d forgotten everything until that moment, watching the light. Watching a _god_ be born. The whole caravan stared on until the light died down, and Crowley was the only one who would dare enter the tent. He’d passed Gilgamesh to Gabriel, and Shay took Astraea. Then, he moved inside. Hesitantly. Slow. Like he wasn’t quite sure what he would move to find, but he wasn’t disappointed. He found Aziraphale, and he wondered why he’d ever thought he’d find something different.

Aziraphale was sitting there, on the cot, with wings sprouted from his back. They were soft, white—the wings of a dove. His skin was streaked with gold, and he’d sprouted a second set of eyes just beneath the first set, slightly wider apart. He hadn’t seemed to notice any of it, not once he saw Crowley.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale gasped. He tried to stand, but he was unsteady on his own feet. The size of his pregnancy was gone, but the size of him remained. Crowley even thought he looked a bit plumper, than he had, but it was a body he _liked_. Crowley didn’t bother to keep his distance.

“Aziraphale—” He gasped and all but flung himself towards him. Crowley wrapped his arms around Aziraphale and lifted him up into the tightest hug he could manage. Aziraphale’s legs wound around his waist, his arms around Crowley’s neck, and the tears followed shortly after.

“What happened? I thought—why do I look like this?”

“You’re alive,” Crowley laughed. “You’re alive, Aziraphale. You’re—you’re a _god_.”

“I’m a what?” Aziraphale pulled back to look at Crowley, and Crowley wiped at his eyes.

“Oh, and you’re beautiful,” Crowley grinned. “You’re _beautiful._”

They kiss, after that. They kissed something long and sloppy, where Crowley moaned when he slipped his tongue into that mouth again. He’d missed this. He’d missed this more than anything, and if not for the crowd outside, he might have laid Aziraphale down on the cot and taken him, right there. Instead, he contained himself, controlled himself, and gestured for Aziraphale to leave the tent. The rain had stopped, the ground had already dried, and the sun was shining again.

The joy from the people just radiated, and somehow, it made Aziraphale shine _brighter_. He laughed with them, he hugged them, and he cried with them. They’d all though he was dead—he had been dead. But he hadn’t stayed that way. No, now he was back, and flowers were blooming up in the grass in places that they hadn’t before. Where patches of dirt had begun to show through, grass returned in full force. And then, finally, Aziraphale got to hold his twins.

At Lilith’s request, magic happened. Crowley turned the tents into homes, the wagons into barns, the logs into true benches. He crafted a town, solid in its footing, right there where the caravan had sat. Up on the cliff, nearby, he’d crafted the temple. And all the way to it, more homes popped up. Buildings. Stables. At the center of it all, around where the cauldron had turned into a springing fountain surrounded by stone, a tavern. Crowley took extra time with the tavern. For Amelia, he’d said, and created the sign that hung from the wooden posts. The Pound Cake was open for business, and it was already stocked full of food and equipment. Aziraphale took credit for that one, flexing on the new powers.

At the other end of the town, Crowley had made a manor out of Lilith’s tent, a place big enough for three. Or more, which he added with a wink. If they wanted more, if Lilith and Shay wanted more without Gabriel’s help—well, they had a god on their side. Crowley didn’t stop until there was a town in place of a caravan, and Aziraphale did the rest. The furnishings, the comfort, the food, the wine. When it was done, it was the caravan’s people who called it Angelus. Crowley hadn’t a lick to do with that.

What he had done, however, Crowley, was create a brand-new Eden in the space around Angelus, a brand-new town. It would be years before the town ever saw a place on the map, ever saw growth, but it had _two_ gods. Two demigods, even if they were infants, were still powerful. Truthfully, Crowley was sure that they would turn into full gods, eventually, too. Given the state of both of their parents, now. Still, none of it mattered in the long run. Not when Crowley pulled his hands away from Aziraphale’s eyes and showed him Eden.

The garden was ever the same, but the structures were different. In the middle of the garden, there stood a cottage. Where Aziraphale might have expected a castle, like the one Crowley was already planning to build them on earth, he saw a cottage. A little, beautiful thing, with just enough space for Crowley to lounge, for the children to grow into their full size—if they should visit. They didn’t have to. Crowley hoped they would stay for a time, especially with no real choice in the matter yet.

Aziraphale found the beautiful little cribs and set each child in one. He watched them for a long moment as they drifted off to sleep, and then he turned to Crowley, who was waiting patiently in the large, open middle of the house. His hands were wrung together, there was worry on his face, but when he saw Aziraphale, all he could do was smile. It had been a week since Aziraphale’s rebirth, and still, every moment Crowley had, he grinned like a fool. His Aziraphale truly, now, was an angel, a dove. Everything that Crowley had always seem him to be, and it was beautiful.

“They’re asleep,” Aziraphale said, lifting his arms to wrap around Crowley’s neck, when Crowley came down to his height.

“You’re wonderful, you know,” Crowley muttered. “The perfect mother. They’ll be perfect little angels, by the time you’re through with them.”

“I should hope so,” Aziraphale complained. “Astraea likes to bite, and I blame you entirely for this, dear.”

Aziraphale’s body had reacted entirely on its own, or at least that was the story Aziraphale was going with. It had taken no more than an hour of holding each child before his swollen breasts had started to leak. It was that moment, and that moment only, that Crowley decided he really never wanted to see Aziraphale without a child, not if it did these wonderful things to his body. Aziraphale was well into nursing them both already, the twins, and Astraea always left him a little sore.

“She’ll get over it,” Crowley assured. “If you like, I could always ease the pain for a while.”

Aziraphale chewed on his bottom lip about that idea, but he really didn’t have the strength to say no. Not when Crowley was giving him that _look_. It had been _months_ since they’d been together, truly months. Aziraphale found himself aching, suddenly, just at the idea that Crowley still looked at him like that. Even in his new state, with four eyes and giant wings, gold streaked skin—Crowley looked at him and saw something worth lying out and loving.

Crowley was at least polite enough to take Aziraphale's out, away from the children, before he pressed his back down into something. The grass, Aziraphale realized. They were in the garden, and oh, he’d only _dreamed_ of a moment like this. Where Crowley would make love to him in their own space, their own little paradise. And he was going to, he really was. Crowley never wore clothes, so it was always a faster time to be bare against each other. Aziraphale’s robes were gone in an instant, and Crowley’s claws were on him, then. His real claws, palming down Aziraphale’s skin. He wasn’t _afraid_ this time.

Aziraphale gasped when the tip of one claw brushed over his nipple and there was a droplet of milk that followed. He half expected Crowley to swoop down over him and take a taste for himself, but Crowley’s claws kept going. Scraping down Aziraphale’s body, leaving angry golden marks in his wake, until he came to rest his claws on Aziraphale’s hips. There, he could see all of Aziraphale. He grinned something devilish at the sight of his bare skin.

“You’ve got a cock,” Crowley said. He was eying Aziraphale’s new cock, a chubby little thing like the rest of him. It wasn’t particularly long, but it did have a girth to it. Crowley licked his lips.

“Look farther down, dear,” Aziraphale urged. He pulled up his knees and spread his thighs for Crowley to see what more he had, and Crowley’s breath would have caught, if he breathed. Just down below Aziraphale’s fresh little prick, his skin broke out into a fat cunt to match. He had thick labia, a heavy hood that Crowley hadn’t really noticed before, but it draped around his dick and disappeared down into his folds. He might have grinned wider for it, too, that Aziraphale had simply chosen to do this with himself. Instead of a sensitive little clit, he had a fat cock that might just fit perfectly in Crowley’s mouth. Not quite long enough to reach his throat, but oh, Crowley would certainly think to give it a nice suck or two. Then, to top it all off, Aziraphale was already slick.

“You look delectable,” Crowley hissed, his tongue flicking out. “I bet you can’t wait to have my cocks, can you? How long have you been thinking about it?” Crowley leaned over him until their chests touched, the pressure had Aziraphale gasping.

“S-since you came to Earth, my Crowley. I’ve needed you—please, please, don’t make me wait. Oh, everything _aches_.”

“I’m sure it does, love,” Crowley mused. He pressed a heavy kiss to Aziraphale’s lips, and they stayed locked together like that until Aziraphale was whining, shifting, and trying to get Crowley to move down.

Crowley obliged him and didn’t waste a second. He wrapped his lips around Aziraphale’s left nipple. It was already heavy and dark, just begging for his touch, and Crowley was nothing if not attentive. He sucked on it, pressing the fork of his tongue over the very tip of the bud. He smoothed his claws around the curve of Aziraphale’s tit, but he didn’t press. He didn’t squeeze. All he did was suck over Aziraphale’s nipple, and Aziraphale couldn’t contain his voice. Or his annoyance, when Crowley wouldn’t go further.

“This—this isn’t the normal angle for nursing, dear,” Aziraphale gasped. Crowley swiped his tongue again, and a shiver overtook Aziraphale’s body. “Please, if you would just—just a little squeeze. That’s all it takes—”

Crowley pulled back enough to growl, “_then squeeze.__”_

Aziraphale moaned when Crowley went back to his nipple, sucking and licking at hit. His claws were still there, ghosting along the soft skin of his breast. Aziraphale was helpless to do as he was told, and reached down with his hand, along the underside of his tit, and did just as he’d explained. Just a little squeeze, rolling his own breast in his hand, and the milk flowed for Crowley. Crowley swallowed around it. He licked over Aziraphale’s nipple, sucked at it—the milk tasted like nothing he’d ever had before. Nothing human or god-like. It was positively _divine_, like the sweetest honey.

He sucked until Aziraphale was sure the ache was gone, and then he switched. This time, Crowley did the squeezing. He wrapped his claws around Aziraphale’s right tit and pressed so gently into it that Aziraphale nearly swooned. Crowley’s assault was the same, licking and sucking until he’d had his fill, but this time he _bit down_ over Aziraphale’s nipple, and Aziraphale gasped.

“You didn’t think I wouldn’t notice, did you?” Crowley grinned. He flicked his thumb over Aziraphale’s nipple and watched how his whole breast bounced. “You need new nipple rings, dove. I want to give them to you. Properly, this time.”

Aziraphale nodded quickly. “Anything you want, love. I thought—I thought you might like to do it, anyway. Entirely new ones, all from you.”

Crowley grinned something evil. When his claw pierced Aziraphale’s skin, there was no pain. Crowley pierced each nipple at the same time, and through the fresh wounds of his new body, produced golden snake rings that wrapped around his nipples. The wounds healed instantly, and Aziraphale shuddered. It had been so much more pleasant than the first time, and he was _glad_ the rings had disappeared in his new body. He couldn’t help but think he wanted Crowley to pierce him more, in any spot he wanted.

“I’ll get you new rings when you’re finished nursing,” Crowley said. “These ones will sit very much the same, but they will look like teeth and cover your nipples away. Think of it like _possession_—I know you like that.”

Aziraphale shuddered, nodding. “What if I were to never be done nursing, though? Surely—surely, now, I can have as many children as you’d think to put in me.”

Crowley seized him in a sudden, heavy kiss, for that comment. Aziraphale could feel the thick of his cocks pressed up around him, in the crook of his thigh. Every press closer, Aziraphale could roll his hips and brush the tip of his own prick into Crowley’s scales, and the sensation sent his head flying back, crying out.

“I’d love to keep you pregnant,” Crowley said, his claws traveling down Aziraphale’s skin again. “Can’t, though. Can’t produce a viable egg that often.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale gasped. His hand met Crowley’s down between his thighs, and where Crowley brushed the tip of his claw along Aziraphale’s prick, Aziraphale reached down to smooth through his own folds. Crowley ducked down a moment later, lying out between Aziraphale’s thighs, and licked a hot stripe over his skin.

“I’ll fuck one into you the moment I can, I promise,” Crowley crooned. “You’ll never have to go long. A decade is nothing in the face of forever.”

“A—a decade?” Aziraphale gasped when Crowley suck down over his pricks. Aziraphale’s own hand stumbled, but he continued to rub himself in time with Crowley’s rhythm. The smooth feel of his tongue, the heat of his spit—Aziraphale was ready to finish right there. “I can’t wait a decade, Crowley,” Aziraphale said. “I need to be full of you, always. Always, Crowley, please. I need your eggs—”

Aziraphale came with a sudden shout, his cock spurting a less than impressive amount of slick while his cunt made up for the rest, a gushing mess over his own hands, Crowley’s skin. Crowley pulled away from his prick and sunk farther down to drag his tongue through Aziraphale’s folds, over his freshly sensitive skin. Aziraphale trembled in the aftermath of his orgasm, and every stripe of Crowley’s tongue seemed to drag it out longer, until his thighs were shaking with need.

“I can make eggs for you,” Crowley said. “I can produce ones that aren’t viable. Is that what you want? To be my personal dumping ground?” Crowley slithered back up until he was looming over Aziraphale in his size, his cocks nestled right up in Aziraphale’s folds. “You want to carry the eggs I can’t use?”

Aziraphale nodded hastily. “Please, Crowley, oh, please—” he gasped out when the first head of Crowley’s cocks breached him. He hadn’t even a minute to adjust before the second one followed, and Crowley was pushing into him with both cocks, at once. He’d never done that, before. Aziraphale couldn’t have imagined this, not in his wildest dreams—both of Crowley’s cocks inside of his cunt. The slickness of them, the hot fluid they produced, burned along his walls and only made it better, _better_. He wanted more.

Crowley leaned over Aziraphale, but instead of bracing himself on the ground, he braced himself on Aziraphale’s chest. He put his claws over each tit, and Aziraphale realized then that Crowley was strong enough to hold himself in that position. This was nothing more than a display of _power_, that even if Aziraphale was a god, now, he would always want to submit to this, to Crowley’s intensity. When his claws began to squeeze, Aziraphale cried out. His nipples leaked from it, and his hips were bucking down of his own accord.

Soon, he could feel Crowley’s scales rippling up against him, and the rest of it was a hot and heavy blur. Crowley fucked into him with abandon, his hips wild with need. He groaned, and Aziraphale cried out with every slap of skin. Every squeeze of his tits. Every time Crowley kissed him. Crowley only dropped his hands away when Aziraphale wanted him close, needed him close, and even then—their chests brushed together. Crowley’s tail continued to move, continued to fuck forward, but they were only inches apart.

“I wish I could do it now,” Crowley told him. “I want you fat with my eggs as often as you can be, angel. I want to know I’ve put something so deep inside of you, it’s not coming out for weeks.”

Aziraphale cried out in response.

“You look so good,” Crowley growled. “You look _fucked_ right now. Do you know how beautiful you are? How wonderful?”

“Crowley, please—” Aziraphale rolled his hips down to meet every punishing thrust Crowley delivered. He’d never felt so _alive, _so thoroughly fucked. Crowley had thrown every nerve out the window for this, and there was still no pain. He would have never let anything hurt.

“I could stay like this all day,” Crowley said, suddenly slowing his movements. He pushed himself up on his hands. “I could lie here all day with you stuffed on my cocks, and you’d let me. I could milk you, even. Save this beautiful liquid for myself.” He palmed over Aziraphale’s breast again and leaned down to lick his skin, where the milk had dribbled down.

“Crowley, Crowley, I’m about to—oh, please, go faster, dear. Harder, please, for me—”

The hiss that escaped Crowley’s throat was possessive and strong. His thrusts picked up immediately. The slick dripped out from between them, an utter mess of their fuck, and Aziraphale couldn’t contain himself. He reached down between his thighs to run his fingers through the mess, to feel where Crowley’s cocks disappeared inside of him. Aziraphale moaned as he explored, and Crowley’s thrusts began to stutter at the touch. When Aziraphale’s finger slipped right inside, between Crowley’s cocks, they were both coming undone a second later.

Crowley’s hips stuttered, and when he pulled away, Aziraphale was left feeling pleasantly full. He still felt along himself to ensure, but there it was, pressed up inside his cunt. Crowley had left him a mating plug before he dropped down into the grass, and his hair spread out like a fan around his head. Aziraphale pushed himself and leaned over Crowley’s chest, just to look at him.

“I love you,” Aziraphale said. “I love you so much, Crowley.”

“I love you, too, dove. Something on your mind?”

“I don’t want to stay up here. Is that wrong of me? I want to be in the town, with the people—and I know our children can’t stay up here forever. I just—is that wrong?”

Crowley shook his head. “I feel the same, angel. Those humans were so kind, and they cared so much. I wouldn’t want to take you away from them.”

“You’ll—we can stay down there?”

“If you like,” Crowley said. “I was already thinking about crafting a place for us. A castle, of sorts, I think I said.”

“I thought you were joking.”

“Not at all, angel.” He leaned forward to press a kiss to Aziraphale’s forehead.

A moment later, when a cry heard out, they knew it was time to roll away from their private moment. It had been wonderful, and it would continue to be wonderful. Aziraphale had gotten everything he wanted, not just with Crowley, but with his new twins. His town. With the temple erected, the people had already planned to take on _two_ patron gods, and that meant Crowley would be safe for a long time. Aziraphale with him. Everything had gone and quite fallen into place. Exactly where Aziraphale had wanted it to.


	11. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter, forreal this time! I couldn't leave it without SOME closure, so here's that. Bonus smut at the end because I do what i want. Please enjoy!

It had been five years, and even where Gilgamesh and Astraea had grown significantly over the time, they were still very much _children._ Crowley had said something about how quick their development would be, but Aziraphale had promptly ignored him in turn for spoiling them. There had been a horrible time for a brief time, five years ago, where Aziraphale hadn’t been there. The thought that he _wouldn__’t _be there. Aziraphale not only enjoyed spoiling his twins, but they enjoyed it, too. At five, Gilgamesh and Astraea were nearly grown, nearly developed, and nearly communicative.

That hadn’t stopped Gilgamesh from attempting to coil his way around the lounge chair Aziraphale was sitting in. It took some maneuvering and Aziraphale was certainly encouraging it, until Gilgamesh had found a comfortable way to drape himself over Aziraphale’s lap. Astraea was sitting on the floor, leaned up against the chair. All three of them were in the temple, where most of the books in the town had congregated. Aziraphale had a book that he had intended specifically to read aloud, but it had taken nearly twenty minutes for the two to find any comfortable position to be in. It was the tail; Astraea had said once. It got in the way.

“Is he finally settled?” Astraea whined. She leaned her head back into the plush of the chair, staring up.

Astraea had turned out to be a miniature Crowley. She, like Gilgamesh, had stark strawberry blonde hair, but they were still very different children. Astraea had glowing, golden eyes, and a bite that matched her bark. She always had something to say, about everything, and there had been several occasions in which Aziraphale had caught her arguing with the villagers. Unlike Crowley, she had a real sweet tooth. She enjoyed human food, the human things—she’d even taken to wearing clothes. Aziraphale was secretly glad for that, even if she was still only barely covered at times.

“I’ve been settled,” Gilgamesh retorted, and his voice was snappy.

Gilgamesh was a better mix of the two. He had Aziraphale’s ability to worry mixed in with perfect amount of Crowley’s blasé attitude. He liked to read, he liked to study, and he certainly wasn’t as aggressive as Astraea was turning out to be. Still, there had been occasions where he’d jumped to her defense and ended up in a worse predicament than she would have gotten into on her own. Gilgamesh had stark blue eyes, like Aziraphale’s, and Crowley’s sharp nose.

The twins were best friends as they were enemies, but they were mostly friends. It was times like this where they snipped and laughed at each other, but in reality, they were both just looking for a way to be with Aziraphale. They’d figured out quickly that he could spend a much longer time on Earth than Crowley, who was currently off in Eden on his own. It had something to do with the length of time they’d been dead before reborn, Crowley thought, but the reason didn’t matter. Every moment he didn’t need to be in Eden, he was down on Earth.

“What are you reading today, Mum?” Astraea entirely ignored Gilgamesh. She’d almost entirely bent her spine back over the chair to get a better look at Aziraphale, who smiled and carded his fingers through her hair.

“This one is a new story we received from that new group of people.”

“A story?” Gilgamesh groaned. “I was hoping for something _smart_.”

“Stories are smart,” Astraea hissed. “You’re just stupid.”

“Hey—”

“Astraea,” Aziraphale cut in, “apologize to your brother, please.”

“Sorry,” she replied immediately, but she rolled her eyes and stuck out her tongue. After a long hard stare from Aziraphale, her second apology came and was far more heartfelt.

Gilgamesh settled down in Aziraphale’s lap, draped over far enough that, with the way Astraea had contorted herself onto the chair, too, their heads were nearly level with each other’s. They did, pointedly, not look at one another when Aziraphale started to read. They did this often, and sometimes, they even had other children around. Gilgamesh and Astraea weren’t exactly what many people would consider _children_, especially not given the god aspect, but Aziraphale couldn’t see them much more than the tiny, stubby little snake children they’d been when they were born. They clearly didn’t mind being babied, just a bit.

Aziraphale hadn’t made it more than a page into the new story before there was a shadow cast into the room of the temple. The only real time that Aziraphale congregated in here were days specifically set aside for rest. There were three days a week where no priests would hold a service, and really, Aziraphale knew there were other reasons for that. This was one of those days in which the temple was usually empty; Crowley didn’t require offerings, Aziraphale didn’t want them, and there was no service. The shadow was strange.

What was more than strange was the way Astraea and Gilgamesh reacted to the sudden figure. It was like an instinctual response that Aziraphale would never acquire. They both stiffened, and Gilgamesh pushed himself up onto his hands to look at the stranger. Astraea rolled back down entirely to the floor; her shoulders tight. Aziraphale watched them both before he’d even looked at the intruder, and that’s who it was—an intruder.

“My, my,” Aziraphale knew that voice, “this wasn’t what I was expecting to come across. I rather thought you’d be dead.”

“Yes, well, things change,” Aziraphale said. He closed the book.

Sandalphon. Sandalphon was walking into the temple—_Aziraphale__’s_ temple. Maybe Crowley’s, too. A joint temple. But Crowley wasn’t here, and that was the detail that mattered. Crowley wasn’t here. It was just Aziraphale with powers he hadn’t quite mastered and twins he didn’t think he could control. They both already looked ready to pounce, and with good reason. Aziraphale wouldn’t have dared keep his origin a secret from them, not when they’d been the ones protecting him. The tremors. The quakes. And there they were, again, both looking seconds away from an attack.

“You survived,” Sandalphon said, a grin growing on his lips. “And look at you now. A veritable angel, you are. Where’s the Snake God, then?”

Aziraphale gulped. There was no comforting burn around his throat, around his mark. He felt _alone_, for the first time in years. But he wasn’t alone. Not really.

“You seem to be quite close to its spawn,” Sandalphon mentioned. “Rather ugly things, aren’t they? And you just let them lay on you like that? Take advantage of you?”

When Astraea went for her first lunge, Aziraphale only barely caught her by the arm. It was a reflex. Maybe he would have loved, now, to see his revenge on Sandalphon—but he was afraid. He was _terrified_ of what might happen if Astraea and Gilgamesh were not exactly where they were, much like a barrier between him and Sandalphon. Astraea stayed, though she yanked her arm away.

“Feisty,” Sandalphon continued, “and ill-mannered. Wouldn’t you rather have normal children?”

“I rather like mine, thank you,” Aziraphale replied.

Sandalphon clearly didn’t feel threatened by two, hissing demigods. Not when he took a step closer. “I think they’re rather disgusting,” he said. “But they are proof of what you can do. You can always come home, you know.”

“He’s not going anywhere,” Astraea snapped. “Your putrid village doesn’t exist anymore—we made sure of that.”

“Mouthy _and_ stupid,” Sandalphon grinned. “You silly snake, don’t you know who I am? _I__’m_ home. I know Aziraphale’s been waiting for me to find him. You see, Aziraphale, the village is no more. There was a horrible earthquake not long after you left, and nearly everyone _died_.”

Aziraphale gripped his fingers into his robes.

“That’s not true,” Gilgamesh assured. “Nobody died.”

“Oh, that’s what you think. But in the winter? With no food, no water? I fear that I’m the only one who managed my way here, and it’s been such a long time coming, don’t you think?” There was a pause. “Aziraphale,” Sandalphon said.

Aziraphale hated the way that he jerked, the way that he _looked_. He’d spent so long listening to Sandalphon’s command that the urge was still there. Please the Arch Priest. Do as he says. But if he did that, he’d just be giving into his fear. It was better to sit there and do nothing, to trust that Astraea and Gilgamesh wouldn’t let Sandalphon closer. Aziraphale reasonably had the power to do something about this himself, but he was petrified. The very idea of moving seemed beyond him, but to call on some sort of power? No. Unthinkable.

“Aziraphale,” Sandalphon said again, “I know that you’ve been thinking about me. Where is your Snake God, now? It leaves you with two bratty spawn? You know I’d never do that. I wouldn’t leave you alone with our children.”

There came no response. Gilgamesh had slipped his way down in front of the lounging chair, and really, Sandalphon couldn’t even see Aziraphale now.

“Come now, Aziraphale. Your wasted here. Look at how positively lovely you’ve become. Shouldn’t your Snake God be here to covet you, to protect you from onlookers. But he leaves his snotty brats to do it, for him? How could you stay with someone who doesn’t care about you when I’m right here?”

Aziraphale knew he was lying. Crowley _did_ care about him. Crowley loved him enough to make him a place to stay on Earth, so he could be with the people. But, god or not, even Crowley needed a rest. That’s all he was doing. Resting. And Aziraphale was watching the children while he did—they may have been near full grown, but they were still _children_. Aziraphale’s children.

“What a loyal little thing you are,” Sandalphon snorted. “I guess I should congratulate you. You’re quite a kept little incubator, aren’t you? Does he use you well, Aziraphale? Maybe I should check. You might be damaged, you know, and not even know it.”

“Please, just—” Aziraphale wrapped his arms around himself. His voice failed him.

“Please? Of course,” and Sandalphon did take a step forward. “We’ll need to make sure your nice and tight again. It’ll be easier this way, you know. No god would want you again, now that you’re so loose. Me, though? I’d be happy with any hole until we’ve got you proper again.”

“You take one step closer, and I’ll _eat_ you,” Astraea hissed. She had fangs, fangs that were sharp and looked much like Crowley’s.

“Oh? The Snake God condones cannibalism now, does it—?”

“Doesn’t seem very sporting to insult a god in his own temple.”

There was a sudden snap that followed the sudden voice, and Sandalphon was frozen in his place. The telltale sound of _footsteps_ followed, sandals into the marble floor, echoing.

“Crowley—” Aziraphale gasped.

“Besides,” Crowley said, twirling Sandalphon around, “it’s not cannibalism. They’re not human. However, I am a very _caring_ father, you know. I wouldn’t want them to ruin their appetites with something as nasty as you.”

Frozen, Sandalphon looked _terrified_.

“You’re not even worth the space you take up,” Crowley hissed. “I’d rather prefer you just _didn__’t_—” in the click of his tongue, Sandalphon was suddenly engulfed in a pillar of flame, in biting fire. He didn’t even have the freedom to shout with the pain, and how Crowley made sure that there was _pain_.

It took minutes. Long, painful, terrifying minutes before Sandalphon was reduced to a pile of ash on the temple floor, and Crowley _stepped_ over it. Stepped. With feet and legs and no snake tail, like usual. He was even dressed in a stark black robe that hung loosely around his chest, held on with golden broaches at the shoulders in the shape of doves. His feet were wrapped in tall sandals, and all of it was brought together with a silly little pair of glasses that sat on the edge of his nose. Suddenly, Sandalphon was really just a thing of the past.

Gilgamesh and Astraea moved off to the side so Aziraphale could get off the chair, and Aziraphale was, then, the first one to laugh. Crowley looked like a full-grown infant who wasn’t quite sure how to walk, yet. He looked unbalanced, swayed from side to side as he walked closer, and the whole thing was quite a spectacle. Aziraphale couldn’t deny the look of it was something spectacular, attractive, but he was still laughing.

“What on earth have you done to yourself?” Aziraphale asked. “In front of the children, too?”

“You look stupid,” Astraea said.

“I think you look dashing,” Gilgamesh smiled.

“Just trying them out, you know? Legs. Humans seem to get such a kick out of them, so I thought it might be fun. Haven’t quite gotten used to it, yet.”

“I think you should never try this again,” Aziraphale said, but when Crowley reached for his hands, Aziraphale happily let himself be pulled closer. Crowley put his hands around Aziraphale’s jaw and pressed a kiss into his forehead. Even with legs and significantly smaller than usual, Crowley still stood a few inches taller. He was the perfect size, really, even if Aziraphale found himself missing the tail already.

“He’ll never bother you again, angel,” Crowley whispered.

“W—We would’ve done something,” Astraea suddenly said. “We were just—Mum was so afraid; I didn’t want to—”

Crowley looked at her, then to Gilgamesh. He realized something all at once, then, which hadn’t been entirely easy for him to reconcile. Now that he had legs, Gilgamesh and Astraea were both larger than him. And still, just the look on their faces was enough for Crowley to remember that they were _children_. Babies, really, in the wake of what lifetime they would have. They could live forever, for all they knew, and five years to that was almost nothing. They’d been just as scared as Aziraphale, even for how hard they’d tried.

“You did spectacularly,” Crowley told her. She fell into his arms a second later, with her head against his shoulder, and he could feel the tremble in her skin. When Gilgamesh dropped on top of them, Crowley _nearly_ fell over, but he managed to hold them both. “You’re too big for this,” he muttered, but he didn’t complain. He would bring back his tail in a moment so he could scoop them both up and hold them.

After the first year of settling, Lilith had returned from her final adventure with three very beautiful, identical golden bands. It had been no more than thirteen hours after that she, Shay, and Gabriel were all three officially bound as one, in the eyes of their god. Life had really, truly, started at that moment. The day after, really, because Aziraphale had left them a wondrous wedding present back at their home for them. It included oysters, specifically, and the effects did not go entirely unnoticed.

Lilith retained her place as leader and had been crowned the Matriarch of Angelus. She had made a very serious effort to invite all the townspeople together for important decisions, and the result had been amazing. With her leadership, her ideas, the town had grown at a pace even Crowley hadn’t foreseen. There were rumors already spreading through the land that Angelus was a place where gods roamed the streets, paved in gold. Maybe some of them were true, but if there was any gold in the town, Crowley had yet to find it.

Gabriel and Shay had decided to undertake the temple themselves. Gabriel had his practical experience, and Shay had her theoretical knowledge about it. They’d made a great team so far, so it just seemed like the natural step. With two gods, two Arch Priests, things fell into place. Officially, Gabriel headed services for Aziraphale, while Shay had been quite taken with Crowley. The temple was never a dull place when the two of them were around, when Crowley decided to find a place in the sun to laze out while Shay sat by and talked to him. It wasn’t anywhere near a normal relationship and priest should have with their god, but Crowley preferred this.

Aziraphale did too. When Gabriel had announced that he would be heading that part, Aziraphale had been so overly excited that he nearly cried. There had been a time where he thought Gabriel’s dream was more important to him than anything, anyone, but that had proved to be nothing more than a bad idea. Gabriel had chosen what was the most important to him, and the dream had merely followed after.

In the third year, Lilith named her first son Ezra. By the time he was born, Shay was already halfway to a child all her own, and both children would be blessed by the gods. The gods who very much had been there when Ezra was born, and in the fourth year, when Shay named her daughter Shira. Astraea had begged and pleaded to get to hold the new baby girl, and no one had ever been particularly good at saying no to Astraea. She and Gilgamesh had wanted to hold Ezra too, when he’d been born, but Aziraphale had insisted they just weren’t old enough themselves.

Everyone found that Crowley, most of all, liked to see new babies as they were born. He liked to press his very particular blessing into their foreheads for a little dash of luck and hold them for a while. His children had been tiny for a time, but not for quite as long as human babies were tiny. Crowley _liked _how tiny humans were. More than anything, he liked how much the humans trusted him with their tiny children.

In the fifth year, when Shay was pregnant with her second child, they’d decided to close the temple for the three days a week. Both her and Gabriel needed time at home to take care of the two kids they already had, with Lilith, and Shay was, well, pregnant. Again. She wasn’t too far along, but still, she was human and already feeling the effects of it. Gabriel and Lilith were experiencing their own effects, and maybe Shay had started to use the temple has a bit of a hiding spot.

Ezra had gone off to play with Gilgamesh and Astraea, who _really_ used the temple as a hiding spot, while Shay set herself up in a comfortable chair off to the side. The temple had a large, green courtyard where Crowley liked to laze about in the sun, and he had already slunk over to plop down beside her by the time she’d found a chair. He had his tail back. After the first bit with legs, everyone had decided that it was horrifying. The idea of the Snake God wearing clothes, with legs, was just unnatural. He was quite back in his true form, there, and comfortably bare.

“You have some experience with this, don’t you?” Shay asked.

“No. I’m quite afraid I’ve never been pregnant.”

“That’s not what I mean. I mean—Aziraphale was. But you were with him. Gabriel and Lilith can’t keep their hands off me.”

Crowley shrugged. He watched Astraea pluck a flower from its stem to _eat_ it, and then Ezra very much attempt to do the same. Thankfully, she had thought enough that humans didn’t have impenetrable stomachs, and Ezra shouldn’t eat strange plants. “That’s pretty normal.”

“Is it?”

“If you’d let me work a little magic, maybe _you _could be the one putting a baby in someone. I think you’d understand it then.”

“No thanks,” she replied. “I’m more than happy the way things are. It’s not a bad thing, really. It’s just tedious. _Sometimes_, I’d like to just hold hands.”

“Have you _told_ them that?”

“Well, no.” Shay stiffened. “I’m afraid of what they might say. What if this is really all that I’m good for?”

Crowley snorted. “You mortals are so strange. You three have been doing whatever it is you do for long enough that you should _know_ that’s not true.”

Shay didn’t respond.

“Or, I could whip you up some magical god thing that has them both itching for days—”

“I’ll tell them! I’ll tell them, thank you,” Shay frowned. “What about Aziraphale?”

“Oh,” Crowley stretched, “now that he knows he won’t die giving birth, he’s pretty much ready to have as many as he can.”

“Thinking of more, then?”

Crowley shook his head. “Not yet. I won’t have another egg for five years. Besides, those two keep him busy enough as it is. They should be pretty independent by the time I can lay a new egg, though.”

Shay smiled. “Is it hard to watch them grow up so fast?”

Crowley just nodded.

He had very much made them a castle some distance away from town. Crowley had called it their Eden on Earth, and Aziraphale had loved every marble covered surface. He loved the books that they collected. But most of all, Aziraphale loved the bedroom. The room was more of a bed than a room, with how large Crowley had made it, but Aziraphale had never minded it. He’d minded, originally, not getting much use out of it. After give years, the town was juts becoming a normal part of their lives. While it was still just as exciting, each day they could spend there, they were beginning to understand the need for their own space.

Gabriel was the perfect place to dump Astraea and Gilgamesh, because he’d agreed, and it kept the twins away from _home_, just for a bit. The fun part about the immortality was they had eons and eons to explore every little thing they wanted to, Crowley and Aziraphale. Aziraphale had expressed some very private admiration for Crowley’s fresh human-form and thought it might rather be fun to try out something _reverse_. To say that Crowley had been the Sacrifice, and Aziraphale was his god. The very idea had made Crowley shudder—a mere mortal being allowed to fuck a god. But he had a slightly different idea.

“It’s not a viable one,” Crowley said, his tail already coiled up around Aziraphale’s leg, “but I think I’ve got an egg for you.”

Aziraphale stared at him.

“I want to play your little game, too, angel, but there’s no way a mortal could fuck you like that. I know you’ve been dying for an egg again, and I’ve made one just for you.”

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale gasped. His body had reacted embarrassingly fast. His little cock was already straining itself to harden, and he could feel the slick gathering at his cunt. He wanted Crowley’s egg more than anything.

Aziraphale dropped away his robes before they’d even touched the bed, and by the time Crowley had Aziraphale on his hands and knees, Aziraphale was entirely naked. He had Crowley’s tail coiled up one of his legs, keeping it still, while Crowley pushed the other aside and settled himself right up against the swell of Aziraphale’s ass. Aziraphale was already dripping with his want, dripping down over Crowley’s scales as Crowley pressed closer into him. The curve of his cocks was there, against Aziraphale’s skin, and Aziraphale whimpered.

Aziraphale’s wings fluttered, even though he knew quite well how to get rid of them. He found it was so much more fun to have them out—they were so sensitive. When Crowley carded his claws through their feathers, Aziraphale’s hips bucked and he cried out. And then, Crowley was grabbing his wings, right at the base of them where they sprouted out of Aziraphale’s skin. The sudden grab wrenched a moan out of Aziraphale’s throat, and he was frozen after. The touch had all but frozen him in place, and he thought idly about a cat being grabbed by its scruff to keep it under control.

“Crowley—” Aziraphale gasped, but Crowley just pressed him down into the mattress.

“I’m going to breed you properly, angel,” Crowley whispered into his ear. “Hold you in place, _fuck_ you until you can take my egg. You don’t even want to get away.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “Breed me, Crowley—please. I’ve waited _so long_ for this!”

“And how patient you’ve been, my little dove. You’ve been so good, waiting for me.” Crowley pressed his lips into Aziraphale’s back, kissing up to his neck where he licked over the black mark there that had claimed Aziraphale _his_. Aziraphale shuddered at the touch, but he wasn’t idle. He worked his hips back into Crowley, rubbing the swell of his ass right over the base of his cocks, where the rest of him disappeared into scales.

“Where do you want this one?” Crowley asked. He let go of one of Aziraphale’s wings to smooth his claws along the curve of Aziraphale’s spine, instead. To feel the way he jumped at the touch, the subtle scrape. The tip of his claw slipped farther down, between Aziraphale’s cheeks, until he could brush over his hole. “I need you to be _very_ specific. I want to hear all the nasty things your mouth can say.”

Aziraphale’s face burned with his embarrassment, but he did what he was told. “Please, Crowley. I—I want your egg. I _need_ your egg.”

“Where, angel?” Crowley’s voice was low and dangerous. “I’ll put my egg anywhere you want, you only have to tell me.”

“_Please_, you know where—”

“I want to _hear_ you,” Crowley said. “Otherwise, maybe I’ll rub off between your fat little cheeks here and leave you to take care of yourself.”

“No—Crowley, no. Please, _please_, I need your egg. Fill me with it, please—my cunt is so empty—”

“_Yes_,” Crowley hissed. “A greedy little cunt it is. I’ll leave you so stuffed you won’t be able to move for _days.__”_

Aziraphale whimpered and spread his knees just a little farther. Crowley marveled over the spread of his thighs, but he went straight for what he wanted. Aziraphale’s cunt was glistening, sopping, and his little prick was bouncing with every movement he made. Aziraphale was a needy little thing, and Crowley was always happy to fulfill that need. The head of his cock rubbed up between those folds, but it wasn’t enough. He could tell from the way Aziraphale squirmed.

Even with the way Crowley had Aziraphale pressed into the mattress, controlled by the grip on his wings, Aziraphale still found enough room to slip his hand down beneath his body, to reach between his thighs and feel for Crowley’s second cock. He needed them both—where Sandalphon had made nasty comments about Aziraphale’s looseness, Crowley _liked_ how loose he was. How open. It meant he was aroused, ready, and Crowley’s cocks slipped inside him without resistance.

Aziraphale _sang_ for him in such a pretty litany of cries, Crowley’s own name. His body positively bloomed open for Crowley, and Crowley was fucking him a second later. Always hard, always fast—just the way Aziraphale liked it. The grip on Aziraphale’s wings meant he couldn’t go anywhere. He couldn’t shy away from the pleasure; Aziraphale was entirely helpless to do anything but grind back against Crowley’s scales. The roughness of them always added something new, the way they rippled over Aziraphale’s folds. He cried out on one particularly hard thrust, his knuckles white from his grip on the bed.

“Crowley, Crowley, _please_,” Aziraphale gasped.

“You’ll get it when I say you get it,” Crowley told him. “When you’re nice and wet. Why don’t you come for me, dove? Show me how pretty you are when you gush on my cocks.”

Aziraphale shuddered, but oh how _good_ he was at doing what he was told. Crowley had pressed him down just right that his back arched beautiful, and every thrust rubbed his nipples into the silken sheets. Crowley had done exactly what he’d promised, after Aziraphale had finished nursing. His nipple rings looked like a snake’s mouth, covering over the tips of his nipples to keep them untouched. But the tug, the pressure, the chill of the metal—it was enough. His prick was dribbling, his cunt squeezing down around Crowley’s cocks.

Aziraphale came with a loud cry, and his cunt gushed with his sudden pleasure. He clenched down over Crowley, but something _thick_ forced him right back open. Crowley had an egg for him, and with every thrust, he pumped it farther. The stretch had Aziraphale’s jaw dropped in his silent moan, but the moment the egg popped through, he sighed, and trembled with a second, quieter orgasm. Crowley didn’t stop there. He continued to fuck forward, his hips stuttering, and every press moved the egg deeper.

Crowley was using him, and Aziraphale had never felt so positively fucked. Crowley was looking for his own pleasure, now, without a mind for how he found it. His claws were away from Aziraphale’s wings in turn for digging into his hips, gripping him tightly. Every thrust was masked with Crowley’s moans, his head thrown back. When he came, the flood of spend seemed to only push the egg _deeper_, and Aziraphale cried out once more. It was like he could feel how the egg settled in his womb and the thought had him nearly coming again.

When Crowley stayed where he was, pressed flush with Aziraphale’s hips, Aziraphale knew what he was getting next. There was nothing more pleasant than being stuffed with Crowley’s mating plug, even if there was no reason. They both knew this egg wouldn’t take, but maybe it would keep Aziraphale happy for a little bit, until Crowley could produce a _real_ egg. They both wanted that more than anything: more children. Especially now that it was _safe_.

Once the plug was secure, Crowley pulled away. He dropped down to the bed and opened his arms for Aziraphale, who promptly threw his leg over Crowley’s waist to sit atop of him before he laid down. Then, he pressed his face into Crowley’s neck, and nearly shivered when Crowley wrapped his arms around him.

“Beautiful, love,” Crowley said. “You did wonderfully.”

“Can we go again?” Aziraphale asked.

“Once more,” Crowley promised, “after we’ve rested a moment.”

Aziraphale wanted to argue that they didn’t _need_ to rest—they were gods. He could even already feel Crowley hardening beneath him, but he wouldn’t deny that moments like this were wonderful. It was a time to bask in just how perfect everything was, how together they were.

“I’ll put a proper egg in you soon,” Crowley muttered. “Would you like that?”

“I would,” Aziraphale smiled. “Maybe not twins, this time, dear. I love them, but they’re a handful.”

“I’ll put a good word in for one baby, this time, okay?”

Aziraphale laughed. He could already see Crowley crouched down in front of his stomach, some odd five years in the future when he _had_ a new egg, telling it to ensure it didn’t split into two, again. It was a lovely little dream, and maybe he’d continue it after he road Crowley’s cocks. They couldn’t lie there forever, though. People would begin to worry if they were away too long. It was a wonderful thing, really, to have a town full of people who adored them, loved them—whom they could adore and love in return.

There had never been a time that Aziraphale could remember where he’d been so happy. He once thought that nothing would have been better than living his life away from humans forever, trapped in Eden at the Snake God’s mercy. He knew better, now, that this is what life _could_ be. He had two beautiful children, he had friends, and he had an entire town in his honor. He might have thought it a fool thing to think of Eden on Earth, but really, that’s what he was sure he’d found.

**Author's Note:**

> 𓆏F𓆏R𓆏O𓆏G𓆏E𓆏𓆏L𓆏O𓆏V𓆏E𓆏  
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